56  The  Song  of  Songs 

removed  from  its  hanging  socket,  set  on  the  broad  win- 
dow-sill directly  back  of  her  head.  She  indulged  in  the 
luxury  even  though  reduced  to  the  bitter  necessity  of  get- 
ting out  of  bed  later  to  replace  both  the  lamp  and  the 
book,  for  nowadays  Mrs.  Asmussen  was  frequently  at  her 
post  earlier  in  the  morning  than  Lilly.  But  Lilly,  for  the 
sake  of  the  few  extra  hours  thus  gained,  would  not  have 
been  deterred  from  allowing  herself  this  great  joy,  even 
if  it  had  involved  going  out  on  the  icy  street  in  her  night- 
gown. 

But  once  she  started  up  from  sleep  in  terror  to  find  Mrs. 
Asmussen  standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed  all  dressed. 
A  black  strap  lay  across  her  white  shirt,  and  the  lamp, 
which  she  had  gotten  up  at  one  o'clock  to  refill,  was  still 
burning  behind  her. 

Never  having  been  beaten  in  her  life,  she  refused  at 
first  to  take  it  seriously  when  Mrs.  Asmussen,  despite  her. 
corpulence,  suddenly  jumped  over  the  bottom  of  the  bed 
and  squatted  on  the  covers  like  a  great  turkey  and  began 
to  strike  her  over  the  ears  with  the  black  strap. 

Bad  times  set  in. 

Of  what  avail  that  Lilly  felt  genuinely  repentant  and 
swore  to  herself  to  reform.  She  was  so  steeped  in  the 
new  passion,  so  absorbed  by  that  lovelier  existence,  where 
people  experienced  and  loved,  suffered  and  enjoyed,  where 
there  were  no  pert  servant  girls  who  came  to  exchange 
books,  no  wet  umbrellas,  no  second  volumes  loaned  out,  no 
ledger  numbers  not  to  be  found,  no  mush,  and  no  blows, 
that  she  could  not  have  returned  to  her  former  self  had 
she  had  the  self -renunciatory  ability  of  a  martyr  and  saint. 

To  such  an  extent  was  she  dominated  by  her  fancy  that 
what  was  her  actual  existence,  moving  on  from  day  to  day 
in  monotonous  prison-like  loneliness,  seemed  to  her  a 
dream,  an  oppressive  death  stupour,  painless,  but  also  pleas- 


The  Song  of  Songs  57 

tireless.  Her  being  did  not  expand  in  real  life  until  the 
sticky  pages  of  a  novel  began  to  rustle  in  her  hand. 

Intimidated  and  unresisting  as  she  was,  she  did  not 
find  the  courage  to  justify  what  was  holiest  to  her  even  in 
her  own  eyes.  She  felt  it  to  be  a  sin  on  which  her  hungry 
soul  fed  as  on  manna. 

M'rs.  Asmussen  had  bethought  herself  of  a  diabolic  way 
of  still  further  humiliating  Lilly.  Ltike  many  a  believing 
Protestant,  she  regarded  religion  solely  as  a  scourge.  Hith- 
erto she  had  not  shown  the  least  solicitude  concerning 
Lilly's  piety,  but  now  she  began  each  meal  with  a  long 
prayer  of  repentance,  and  while  the  steam  curled  invit- 
ingly from  the  soup  tureen,  she  would  beseech  God  with 
sighs  and  tears  to  raise  Lilly  from  the  depths  to  which  she 
had  sunk. 

And  woe  to  Lilly  if  caught  backsliding! 

That  first  chastisement  was  not  the  last.  Every  pretext 
was  seized  for  beating  and  cuffing  her.  Storms  of  abuse 
showered  down  on  her  unprotected  head.  She  did  not 
dare  breathe  until  the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  emi- 
nent physician  began  to  have  its  soothing  effect. 

Then  she  would  pounce  on  the  first  book  she  came  across, 
and  amid  the  forging  of  signatures  and  broken  marriage 
vows,  amid  death  by  poisoning  and  the  mad  acts  of  love, 
3he  would  suffer  and  triumph,  triumph  and  die,  blissful  in 
her  sufferings,  intoxicated  to  the  very  end. 


THE  SONG  OF  SONGS 


PAET  I 
CHAPTER  I 

Lilly  was  fourteen  years  old  when  her  father,  Kilian 
Czepanek,  the  music-master,  suddenly  disappeared. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  He  had  been  giving  piano 
lessons  the  whole  day,  in  the  interim  swearing  and  drink- 
ing Moselle  and  Selters,  for  it  was  intensely  hot.  Occa- 
sionally he  had  slipped  into  the  dining-room  to  take  a 
cognac  or  arrange  his  Windsor  necktie.  He  had  pulled 
Lilly  *s  brown  curls  as  she  sat  labouring  over  her  French 
vocabulary,  and  had  disappeared  again  into  the  best  room, 
where  the  girl  pupils  changed  from  hour  to  hour,  and  only 
the  dissonances  and  the  curses  remained. 

When  the  last  victim  had  stumbled  through  her  lesson 
and  closed  the  hall  door  behind  her,  Czepanek  failed  to 
reappear  in  his  usual  bad  temper  and  with  his  usual  ap- 
petite. He  remained  in  the  front  room,  w^here  this  day 
he  neither  whistled  nor  whined  nor  played  out  his  rage 
on  the  keyboard,  as  he  sometimes  did  after  a  day's  labour. 
In  fact,  he  gave  scarcely  a  sign  of  life.  Now  and  then  a 
deep  sigh — that  was  all. 

Lilly,  who  took  warm  interest  in  everything  her  hand- 
some father  did  or  did  not  do,  let  her  French  textbook 
slip  from  her  lap,  and  stole  up  to  the  keyhole. 

Through  it  she  saw  him  standing  before  the  large  pier- 
glass,  absorbed  in  a  close  study  of  himself.     From  time 

5 

A  A  ,1 «)  ?r  » 


6  Tlie  Song  of  Songs 

to  time  he  raised  his  left  hand  and  pressed  it  as  if  in 
despair  against  his  soft,  silky,  dark  artist's  curls,  which 
Lilly's  mother  devotedly  fostered  every  day  with  bay-rum 
and  French  oils. 

He  and  his  reflection  gazed  at  each  other's  moist  red 
face  with  wild,  eager  eyes,  and  Lilly's  heart  expanded  in 
love  of  her  adored  papa. 

To  Lilly  his  standing  before  the  mirror  was  a  familiar 
sight.  It  was  his  manner  of  squaring  accounts  for  his 
lost  life  and  wasted  love,  his  manner  of  charming  back 
the  great  world,  in  which  duchesses  and  prima  donnas 
yearningly  cherished  the  memory  of  their  vanished  idol. 

He  stood  there  like  an  elderly  god  of  love,  with  small 
alcoholic  puffs  under  his  eyes,  and  a  tendency  toward  a 
paunch. 

Both  mama  and  Lilly  cared  for  him  with  unremitting 
zeal.  They  regarded  him  as  a  sort  of  bird  of  para- 
dise, who  by  a  lucky  chance  had  been  caught  between  the 
walls  of  a  room,  and  who  required  the  greatest  effort,  the 
utmost  circumspection,  to  keep  him  safe  in  the  cage. 

By  right,  Lilly  should  long  ago  have  been  sitting  at  the 
piano,  for  in  the  house  of  Czepanek  a  quiet  keyboard  was  a 
waste  of  time  and  a  sin  before  the  Lord.  She  had  to 
practice  four  or  five  hours  every  day.  Often  when  her 
father  was  seized  by  the  holy  spirit  of  creativeness  and 
forgot  the  time  set  aside  for  her  practicing,  she  did  not 
begin  until  nearly  midnight.  Then  she  sat  at  the  piano 
frozen,  with  hea^y  eyes,  striking  out  in  all  directions  until 
the  small  hours  of  the  morning.  Sometimes  her  mother 
found  her  the  next  day  lying  with  her  arms  crossed  on 
the  keyboard  in  that  profound  child's  sleep  from  which 
there  is  almost  no  rousing. 

Thus  it  happened  that  she  cared  little  for  the  artistic 
future  for  which  her  father's  ambition  had  destined  her. 


The  Song  of  Songs  7 

She  preferred  to  dally  with  some  old  forbidden  book,  and 
often  drove  her  father  to  despair  by  a  false  pretence  at 
cleverness  in  playing  at  first  sight.  But  to-day  she  had 
the  Sonata  Pathetique  to  do,  and  there  is  no  trifling  with 
that,  as  any  babe  in  arms  knows. 

So  she  was  just  about  to  interrupt  her  father  as  he 
stood  there  plunged  in  dreamy  self-observation,  wh^n  she 
heard  a  click  at  the  door  from  the  kitchen.  She  bounded 
away  from  the  keyhole  with  one  great  leap  of  her  long 
legs,  and  the  next  instant  her  mother  entered,  carrying 
the  supper  dishes. 

The  mother's  prematurely  faded  cheeks  were  now  glow- 
ing from  the  heat  of  the  kitchen  fire.  She  held  her  lean 
figure  erect,  taut  as  a  whip  cord,  which  seemed  to  be  tied 
in  a  knot  at  the  abdomen  by  a  protrusion,  the  result  of 
abortive  child-bearing.  Dull  marital  sorrow  had  long  ago 
transformed  her  eyes,  once  beautiful,  into  two  lustreless 
slits.  But  at  this  moment  they  were  beaming  with  pride 
and  expectation. 

For  to-day  Mrs.  Czepanek  hoped  to  satisfy  her  lord  and 
his  palate. 

At  the  clatter  of  the  plates  on  the  table,  the  door  to 
the  parlour  opened,  and  papa's  dark  curly  head,  about 
which  the  evening  sunlight  cast  a  halo,  appeared  in  the 
bright  opening. 

**The  deuce,  supper  already?'*  he  said,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  with  a  peculiar,  confused  gaze. 

**In  ten  minutes,"  the  mother  replied,  joy  at  the  sur- 
prise in  store  for  him  playing  about  her  parched,  chapped 
lips  like  secret  bliss. 

He  entered  the  room,  took  a  few  deep  breaths,  and  said 
with  the  air  of  a  man  to  whom  speech  comes  hard: 

* '  I  've  just  noticed  that  one  of  the  straps  of  my  hand-bag 
is  torn." 


8  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Why,  do  yoTi  want  it?"  asked  his  wife. 

** One's  hand-bag  must  always  be  kept  in  readiness/'  he 
answered,  his  eyes  continuing  to  rove  about  the  room. 
**  Suppose  I  were  suddenly  to  be  called  to  act  as  substitute 
somewhere.     I  must  have  my  bag  ready.'' 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  been  called  upon  the  previ- 
ous winter  to  take  the  place  of  a  Berlin  virtuoso,  who 
had  undertaken  to  *'do"  the  towns  in  eastern  Germany 
and  whose  train  had  been  snow-bound  near  Bromberg.  The 
committee  telegraphed  to  papa  requesting  him  to  play  in 
his  stead.  But  now,  in  midsummer,  when  the  concert  sea- 
son was  dead,  such  an  emergency  was  scarcely  within  the 
realm  of  the  possible. 

''I'll  tell  Minna  to  take  it  to  the  saddler's  right  after 
Bupper,"  said  mama,  who  took  good  care  not  to  contradict 
her  choleric  husband. 

He  nodded  meditatively  and  walked  into  his  bedroom, 
while  the  mother  ran  to  the  kitchen  to  do  the  final  honours 
in  her  own  person  to  the  titbit  she  had  prepared  for  him. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  returned  with  the  bag  in  his 
hand.  It  looked  rather  bulgy.  He  stopped  before  the 
linen  chest. 

** Lilly,  dear,"  he  «aid,  **I  wonder  whether  the  score 
would  go  into  the  grip  crosswise  ?  In  case  I  am  called  to  a 
concert,  you  know — " 

The  score  of  the  Song  of  Songs  was  kept  in  the  linen 
chest,  so  that,  should  fire  break  out  during  papa's  ab- 
sence, anyone  in  the  family  might  easily  get  at  this  great- 
est of  treasures. 

Lilly  looked  for  the  keys,  but  could  not  find  them. 

**I'll  go  ask  mama,"  she  said. 

**No,  no,"  he  cried  hastily,  and  a  shiver  went  through 
his  body,  such  as  Lilly  had  often  noticed  when  mother  was 


The  Song  of  Songs  9 

mentioned  to  him.  **I'll  first  take  this  old  thing  to  the 
saddler. ' ' 

Lilly  was  shocked  at  the  idea  that  her  celebrated  father 
should  himself  go  to  the  saddler's  dingy  workshop. 

** Mercy!"  she  cried,  and  reached  out  for  the  handle  of 
the  bag.     She  would  take  it  to  the  saddler  herself. 

But  he  warded  her  off. 

**You're  too  grown  up  now  for  such  things,  my  girl," 
he  said,  and  his  eyes  lighted  up  as  they  scanned  her  tall, 
virginal  body,  her  hips  and  bosom,  already  beginning  to 
show  delicate  curves.     ^*Why,  you're  almost  a  signora.'* 

He  patted  her  cheeks  and  pulled  a  little  at  the  lock 
of  the  linen  chest,  gnawing  his  lips  the  while  in  intense 
bitterness.  Then  suddenly  he  shook  himself,  and  with  a 
shy,  contemptuous  look  toward  the  kitchen — Lilly  knew  that 
look,  too — went  quickly  out  of  the  room. 

He  went  and  never  came  back. 

The  night  following  that  red  summer  evening  remained 
graven  in  Lilly's  memory  hour  by  hour. 

Her  mother  sat  on  the  window-sill  in  her  nightgown,  and 
her  fervid,  anxious  eyes  kept  glancing  up  and  down  the 
street.  Whenever  she  heard  steps  at  a  distance  knocking 
on  the  pavement,  she  would  start  and  cry : 

** There  he  is." 

Lilly  felt  there  was  no  need  to  bother  about  the  Pathe- 
tique  to-day.  A  dull  oppression  in  her  left  breast  de- 
termined her  to  turn  to  St.  Joseph,  to  whom  she  had  stood 
in  tender  relations  since  her  confirmation.  She  had  al- 
ready passed  many  a  dreamy,  idle  hour  before  his  altar 
at  St.  Anne's — right  front,  second  chapel — and  secretly 
sent  up  many  an  abstract  sigh  to  the  dear,  good  face  with 
the  beautiful  beard.     But  to-night  he  failed  her  utterly. 


10  The  Song  of  Songs 

She  could  get  no  consolation  from  him,  and  vexed  and 
disillusioned,  she  dismissed  him. 

At  twelve  o  'clock  the  last  vehicle  passed  the  house. 

At  one  the  pedestrians,  too,  grew  less  frequent. 

At  half-past  two  a  dusty  wind  arose,  smelling  of  sand 
and  threatening  to  blow  out  the  lamp. 

Between  two  and  three  only  the  night  watchman  was 
heard  shuffling  along  the  narrow,  echoing  street. 

At  three  the  early  delivery  wagons  began  to  rattle,  and 
it  grew  light. 

Between  three  and  four  Lilly  prepared  a  boiling  hot 
cup  of  coffee  for  her  mother,  and  ate  up  all  the  cold  sup- 
per. Long  waiting  and  crying  had  made  her  ravenously 
hungry. 

Between  four  and  five  a  band  of  young  night  revellers 
passed  by,  throwing  kisses  to  her  mother,  and  when  their 
importunities  forced  her  to  withdraw  from  the  window 
they  serenaded  her.  Fine,  pure  voices,  Lilly  had  to  admit 
despite  her  grief;  rendition  good  and  precise,  without  that 
pedantic  stop-like  effect  which  papa  so  detested  in  the  sing- 
ing societies.  Perhaps  they  were  even  pupils  of  his  who 
did  not  know  his  residence. 

Scarcely  were  they  gone  when  the  mother  was  again  at 
her  post. 

Lilly  struggled  against  sleep. 

She  saw  as  through  a  veil  the  thin  blond  hair  waving 
over  her  mother's  forehead  in  the  morning  breeze,  saw 
the  pointed  nose,  red  with  weeping,  turn  now  to  the  right, 
now  to  the  left,  according  to  the  direction  from  which  a 
sound  came;  saw  the  nightgown  fluttering  like  a  white 
flag,  and  the  lean  legs  incessantly  rubbing  against  each 
other  in  nervous  agitation.  Then  she  had  to  retell,  per- 
haps for  the  hundredth  time,  the  story  of  the  hand-bag 
and  the  linen  chest,  but  her  eyes  closed. 


The  Song  of  Songs  11 

And  then  suddenly  she  started  up  with  a  cry ;  her  mother 
had  dropped  back  in  a  swoon,  and  lay  supine  on  the  floor 
like  a  log  of  wood. 


CHAPTER  II 

So  Kilian  Czepanek  never  came  back. 

Good  friends  were  not  wanting,  of  course,  who  had  for 
years  foreseen  the  event.  In  fact,  they  failed  to  under- 
stand how  he  could  have  endured  it  so  long — he,  the  man 
of  genius,  of  God-given  fancy,  with  the  hall-mark  of  cre- 
ative restlessness  on  his  thunder-headed  brow.  Others 
called  him  a  good-for-nothing,  a  dirty  scoundrel,  who  ran 
after  innocent  girls  and  enticed  young  men  to  gamble. 
They  declared  Mrs.  Czepanek  lucky  to  be  rid  of  him,  and 
charged  Lilly  to  erase  her  unworthy  father  from  her 
memory. 

Most  unpleasant  of  all,  however,  were  those  who  said 
nothing,  but  presented  bills.  Mrs.  Czepanek  sold  or 
pawned  all  the  articles  of  luxury  left  her  from  the  middle- 
class  comfort  of  her  youth,  or  from  her  husband's  liberal 
moods.  But  these  soon  gave  out.  Furniture,  dress  and 
linen  not  absolutely  indispensable  followed;  then  at  last 
the  creditors  were  stilled. 

The  singing  society,  to  the  leadership  of  which  Kilian 
Czepanek  had  been  called  fifteen  years  before,  and  which, 
during  that  period,  had  carried  off  no  less  than  six  prizes, 
expressed  its  satisfaction  with  the  accomplishments  of  its 
conductor  by  holding  the  position  open  for  half  a  year  and 
paying  the  salary  in  full  to  his  wife. 

But  this  period  of  grace  also  came  to  an  end.  Now  be- 
gan the  bitter  begging  pilgrimages  to  the  eminent  citizens 
and  officials  of  the  city,  the  sorry  pulling  of  bells,  the 
anxiousfcscraping  of  shoes  before  strangers'  doors,  the  half- 

12 


The  Song  of  Songs  13 

hour  waitings  in  dark  corridors,  the  abashed  sitting  down 
on  the  narrow  edges  of  chairs,  the  sighs,  the  stammering, 
the  wiping  of  eyes,  which,  however  honestly  meant,  came 
to  have  somewhat  the  appearance  of  professional  hypocrisy. 
The  more  it  was  calculated  to  produce  an  impression  the 
more  it  failed  of  its  purpose. 

Now  came  the  chase  for  work  in  shop  and  factory,  in  all 
places  where  bed-linen  and  shirts  and  nightgowns  are 
made,  where  cheap  lace  is  added  to  cheap  underwear, 
where  white  goods  is  vitalised  with  hems  and  yokes  and 
bindings  and  strings.  Now  came  the  whizz  of  the  sewing 
machine  the  whole  day  and  the  whole  night.  Now  came 
pricked  fingers,  inflamed  eyes,  swollen  knees,  vinegar  com- 
presses about  feverish  temples,  a  simmering  tea-kettle  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  watery  coffee  heated  three 
times  over,  with  bread  and  butter  instead  of  the  midday 
roast  and  the  evening  eggs.     In  short,  now  came  poverty. 

And  strange  to  say,  the  more  remote  the  day  on  which 
Kilian  Czepanek  had  disappeared,  the  more  confidently  his 
abandoned  wife  looked  forward  to  his  return.  The  first 
half  year  had  passed;  another  conductor  appeared  and 
challenged  comparison.  For  a  couple  of  weeks  the  papers 
contented  themselves  with  mortifying  him  by  flattering  al- 
lusions to  the  former  leader.  But  this  also  passed.  And 
now  followed  the  great  silence  of  the  grave.  At  most, 
Czepanek 's  picture  remained  alive  only  in  a  few  bar- 
rooms and  a  few  girls'  hearts. 

Mrs.  Czepanek,  however,  who  had  so  long  compressed 
her  lips  in  smothered  shame  when  the  conversation  turned 
upon  her  husband,  began  to  speak  of  his  coming  back  as 
of  an  established  fact  definitely  prearranged.  More  than 
that,  she  who  in  the  course  of  fifteen  years  had  gradually 
lost  her  youth,  her  beauty,  her  ready  wit  and  laughter, 
everything  she  had  brought  as  a  marriage  dowry  to  her 


14  The  Song  of  Songs 

husband,  sinking  it,  for  no  reason  at  all,  in  a  grey  pool 
of  self-reproach  and  anxiety;  she  who  for  many  years  had 
not  tried  a  coloured  ribbon  on  her  sunken  breast,  who  had 
not  troubled  to  arrange  a  lock  of  hair  on  her  forehead, 
which  kept  growing  higher  and  higher — this  woman  became 
vain  again.  Each  time  she  received  her  meagre  pay  she 
made  haste  to  invest  part  of  it  in  powder  and  beauty  creams. 
In  moments  of  exhaustion,  when  she  could  no  longer  stand 
on  her  feet,  she  quickly  whipped  a  red  stick  from  her 
pocket  and  passed  it  over  her  thin  lips.  And  about  eight 
o'clock  every  morning  she  bustled  between  the  kitchen  fire 
and  the  sewing  machine  with  a  freshly  burned  wreath  of 
curls. 

In  this  way  she  prepared  herself  for  his  return.  She 
would  receive  her  repentant  husband  in  her  outstretched 
arms,  bedecked  and  radiant  as  a  bride. 

For  he  was  bound  to  return;  that  was  certain.  Where 
else  would  he  find  a  comprehending  smile  like  hers,  where 
else  the  secret  soul-harmony  which  consoles  by  silence  and 
compels  happiness  by  prayer,  which,  with  the  dropping 
of  the  rosary  beads,  secretly  insinuates  dreamy  stipula- 
tions with  Providence,  and  dissolves  the  whole  universe 
into  one  great  minor  harmony  of  yearning?  Where  else 
was  there  a  human  being  who  served  as  she  did,  without 
malice  and  without  regret,  with  body  and  with  soul,  who 
allowed  herself  to  be  taken  or  rejected  according  to  im- 
pulse or  desire? 

Thus  she  had  once  welcomed  him,  a  young,  blond,  laugh- 
ing, unsuspecting  thing.  She  had  given  herself  to  him 
without  stint  and  without  questioning;  just  because  he 
desired  it.  And  she  had  scarcely  felt  it  as  her  right  and 
his  atonement,  when  he  led  her  to  the  altar  at  the  com- 
mand of  her  father,  an  honest  subordinate  in  a  court  of 
justice.     In  fact,  Czepanek  had  been  forced  into  marriage 


The  Song  of  Songs  15 

by  half  the  city,  which  otherwise  would  have  ostracised 
the  seducer  and  ousted  him  from  his  soft  berth. 

Happier  she  could  not  be,  that  she  knew.  Of  the  name- 
less misfortune  bound  to  come  she  had  not  the  least  pre- 
sentiment ;  and  when  it  came  she  took  it  without  complaint ; 
she  loved  him  so  very  much,  she  regarded  it  as  the  natural 
indemnity  for  the  unnatural  gift  of  having  possessed  him. 

Yet  he  would  come  back  in  spite  of  all.  Whether  he 
wished  to  or  not,  he  would  come.  She  had  in  her  posses- 
sion a  pledge  which  chained  him  to  her  for  all  time,  and 
which,  sooner  or  later,  must  force  him  to  cross  her  thresh- 
old. 

It  was  not  Lilly.  True,  he  loved  his  child,  loved  her 
with  a  tenderness  strangely  compounded  of  pleasure  in  a 
toy  for  idle  hours,  and  of  aesthetic  delight  in  her  inner  and 
outer  loveliness.  But  for  a  real  father's  love,  she  knew, 
there  was  no  room  in  his  gypsy  heart.  Even  in  hours 
when  he  would  feel  himself  most  alone  and  abandoned,  the 
thought  would  never  occur  to  him  to  seek  solace  and  com- 
fort with  a  child  of  his. 

But  the  wife  had  something  else  in  her  keeping  which 
gave  her  a  far  stronger  hold  upon  him — a  roll  of  music; 
that  was  all.  He  might  easily  have  put  it  in  the  bag  with 
which  he  had  departed  on  his  great  journey.  In  fact,  he 
had  attempted  to.  But  so  great  at  the  decisive  moment 
was  his  desire  to  esscape  that  he  did  not  dare  to  face  his 
suspicious  wife. 

This  roll  of  music  contained  everything  that  had  linked 
his  past  with  his  future  during  the  fifteen  years  of  his 
Philistine  life,  everything  remaining  from  the  titanic  storm 
and  stress  of  his  youth,  from  the  giddy  hopes  and  ambitions 
of  the  days  when  he  starved. 

This  roll  of  musio — it  was  slender  enough — contained 
the  work  of  his  life;  it  contained  the  Song  of  Songs. 


16  The  Song  of  Songs 

Since  Lilly  could  think,  nothing  in  the  world  had  been 
spoken  of  with  such  respect,  with  such  tender  and  reverent 
awe,  as  this  work,  of  which,  with  the  exception  of  the  two 
women,  no  one  knew  a  note. 

It  was  something  that  had  never  yet  been,  something  un- 
heard of,  a  new  world  of  sound,  the  beginning  of  a  musi- 
cal development,  of  which  the  end  was  lost  in  the  twilight 
of  mystic  anticipation. 

The  opera  had  reached  its  culmination  in  Wagner,  the 
road  from  which  pointed  straight  down  into  the  abyss; 
symphonic  composition  no  longer  answered  modern  re- 
quirements for  sense  music ;  the  song  had  been  split  up  by 
the  newest  school  into  a  series  of  small  subtle  effects.  The 
art  of  the  future  belonged  to  the  oratorio,  but  not  that  con- 
strained wooden  production  hitherto  suffered  to  pass  by 
the  name  from  a  false  belief  that  we  have  to  make  conces- 
sions to  a  misunderstood  ecclesiasticism,  but — and  here  it 
was  that  the  new  world  of  sound,  the  Song  of  Songs,  began. 

The  score  had  been  completed  years  ago.  To  entrust  it 
to  the  heavy  execution  of  the  musicians  of  Czepanek's  pro- 
vincial town  would  have  been  desecration.  So  it  lay  there 
and  lay  there,  and  interwove  the  day  with  a  mild,  mys- 
terious light,  which  no  one  saw,  yet  every  one  felt.  It 
xshot  rays  of  light  into  the  distant  future,  and  so  filled  a 
child's  palpitating  heart  with  anticipation,  prayer  and 
love  that  that  heart  would  rather  have  stood  still  than 
exist  without  this  fountain  of  the  good  and  the  noble,  from 
which  the  acting  forces  of  life  daily  drew  their  suste- 
nance. 

For  Lilly  the  roll  of  music  lying  in  the  upper  drawer 
of  the  linen  chest,  held  together  by  two  rubber  bands,  was 
a  kind  of  household  divinity,  which  gave  purity  and  sanc- 
tity to  the  home.  She  had  imbibed  reverence  for  the  sheets 
of  paper,  scrawled  over  with  curly-headed  runes,  since  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  17 

dawn  of  her  recollections,  and  their  music  was  familiar 
to  her  from  her  early  childhood. 

Papa,  it  is  true,  did  not  like  to  have  the  themes  of  his 
creation  bandied  about  in  everyday  life.  **Why  don't  you 
sing  *0  du  lieber  Augustin'  or  *Nun  sei  bedankt,  mein 
lieber  Schwan?'  "  he  used  to  say  when  lie  caught  one  of 
them  dreamily  humming  his  arias.  ^  *  They  are  plenty  good 
enough  for  you.'' 

Later  his  warnings  grew  unnecessary.  Mama  gradually 
forgot  everything  sounding  like  a  song,  and  Lilly  with- 
drew more  and  more  into  herself. 

She  had  arranged  a  sort  of  mass  from  the  Song  of 
Songs,  which  she  celebrated  before  the  mirror  when  she 
knew  she  was  alone  in  the  house.  She  draped  a  sheet  about 
her  waist  like  a  skirt,  hung  window-curtains  over  her  shoul- 
ders, wound  old  lace  about  her  neck,  and  wove  spangles 
taken  from  shoes  into  her  hair.  Singing,  weeping,  and 
uttering  shouts  of  joy,  with  genuflections,  magic  dances 
and  airy  embraces,  she  lived  through  Sulamith's  bridal 
yearning  and  ecstasy  as  awakened  to  life  again  in  papa's 
Song  of  Songs  after  a  slumber  of  twenty-five  himdred 
years. 

The  manuscript  of  this  song  became  the  anchor  to  which 
the  hopes  of  Kilian  Czepanek's  family  were  henceforth 
fastened.  It  was  conceivable  that  he,  a  vagabond,  cast  out 
by  his  own  parents  when  a  child,  might  abandon  wife  and 
daughter  to  want  and  pining— but  to  believe  that  he  would 
desert  the  work  of  his  lifetime,  the  sword  wherewith  he 
was  to  fight  his  way  back  into  the  great  world,  was  sheer 
folly. 

And  while  the  sewing-machine  whizzed  and  whirred  day 
and  night  in  the  attic  to  which  Mrs.  Czepanek  and  her 
daughter  had  removed,  while  the  body  of  the  forsaken 
woman  dried  up  entirely  and  grew  ever  more  deformed, 


18  The  Song  of  Songs 

and  the  layer  of  paint  with  which  she  kept  herself  young 
rested  upon  cheekbones  sharpening  from  week  to  week, 
there  lay  in  the  upper  drawer  of  the  linen  chest  (the  chest 
2iad  been  saved  from  bankruptcy)  an  earnest  of  future 
reunion,  working  miracles  by  its  proximity,  the  Song  of 
Songs. 


CHAPTER  III 

Lilly  was  now  a  tall  young  woman  with  a  well-devel- 
oped figure  for  her  age,  who  carried  her  school-bag  through 
the  streets  with  the  air  of  a  princess. 

Her  plaid  dress  of  mixed  wool  was  always  wrinkled  by 
rain,  and  despite  the  let-out  tucks  was  ever  too  short.  Her 
rainy-day  boots  went  to  the  cobbler  time  and  again,  and 
between  the  wavy  ends  of  her  cotton  gloves  and  the  hems  of 
her  sleeves  laboriously  stretched  to  meet  them,  gleamed  a 
strip  of  red,  slender  arm. 

But  whoever  saw  her  come  down  the  street  with  the 
easy  swing  of  her  beautifully  curved  hips,  with  the  care- 
less, rhythmic  tread  of  exuberant  youth  and  strength,  with 
the  mobile  head,  too  small  for  her  tall  body,  set  on  a  long 
neck,  with  the  two  mouse  teeth  that  looked  out  eagerly 
from  behind  an  upper  lip  somewhat  too  short,  and  with  the 
two  famous  "Lilly  eyes" — he  who  saw  her  did  not 
think  of  the  shabbiness  of  her  dress,  did  not  suspect  that 
this  delicately  shaped,  broad  breast  was  bent  for  hours  and 
hours  over  sewing,  that  this  whole  glorious,  youthful  organ- 
ism, whose  sap,  as  it  chased  through  her  veins,  manifested 
itself  in  causeless  blushings  and  passionate  palings,  was 
grandly  maintained  and  preserved  on  boiled  potatoes,  bread 
spread  with  clarified  fat,  and  bad  sausage. 

The  high  school  students  followed  her  all  afire,  and  for 
a  long  time  the  poems  composed  in  her  praise  in  the  first 
year  class  were  to  be  counted  by  the  dozen. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  she  remained  indifferent  to  their 
homage.     When  a  troop  of  them  came  toward  her  on  the 

19 


20  The  Song  of  Songs 

street  she  felt  as  if  a  rosy  veil  were  descending  over  her 
eyes  from  shame  and  dread;  and  when  the  young  men 
passed  by,  doffing  their  caps — they  had  met  her  at  the 
skating-rink — she  was  overcome  by  giddiness,  or  a  sinking 
sensation,  so  suddenly  did  the  blood  mount  to  her  head. 
The  aftertaste  of  the  meetings  was  delicious.  For  hours 
she  recalled  the  picture  of  the  young  man  who  had  greeted 
her  most  respectfully,  or  the  one  who  had  blushed  like 
herself.  That  was  the  one  she  loved — until  at  the  next  en- 
counter he  was  replaced  by  another. 

Despite  her  adorers  she  was  subjected  to  less  teasing 
by  her  schoolmates  than  is  usual  in  such  cases.  The  con- 
tentfcj  defencelessness  of  her  manner  disarmed  all  enmity. 
If  they  hid  her  schoql-bag  she  merely  entreated,  *' Please 
give  it  back  to  me."  If  they  stuck  her  up  on  the  stove, 
she  remained  there  laughing,  and  if  they  wanted  to  copy 
her  English  exercise,  she  gave  them  the  solution  to  an 
arithmetic  problem  besides. 

The  only  discord  in  her  relations  with  them  arose  from 
the  jealousy  that  set  her  bosom  friends  by  the  ears.  In 
this  she  was  not  quite  blameless,  as  she  changed  her  friend- 
ships with  startling  rapidity,  feeling  in  duty  bound  to  re- 
spond to  all  overtures  of  intimacy.  Consequently  her  af- 
fections could  not  be  fastened  on  a  single  companion  for 
long,  and  she  herself  was  amazed  when  she  saw  one  senti- 
ment pushed  aside  by  the  next  attack. 

The  teachers,  too,  had  kindly  feelings  for  her.  The 
words,  ** Lilly,  you  are  dreaming,"  which  sometimes  came 
from  the  platform,  sounded  more  like  a  caress  than  a  re- 
proach. As  head  of  the  newcomers  in  the  1  B  class  she 
sat  for  a  time  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  row,  and  more  than 
one  hand  gave  her  hair  a  paternal  stroke  in  passing. 

Her  nickname  was  ''Lilly  with  the  eyes."  Her  school- 
mates declared  such  eyes  were  absolutely  improbable,  such 


The  Song  of  Songs  21 

eyes  could  not  exist.  ''Cat  eyes/'  ''nixie  eyes/*  are  sam- 
ples of  the  epithets  bestowed  upon  them.  Some  maintained 
they  were  violet,  some  knew  for  sure  she  penciled  her  lids. 
However  that  may  be,  he  who  looked  at  her  face  saw  eyes 
and  nothing  but  eyes,  and  was  content  to  look  no  further. 

When  fifteen  and  a  half  years  old  Lilly  passed  from  the 
first-year  class  into  the  Selecta,  the  class  for  advanced  pu- 
pils, for  it  had  been  decided  that  she  was  to  earn  her  liv- 
ing as  a  governess. 

With  this  came  a  change  in  many  respects;  new  teach- 
ers, new  subjects  of  study,  new  companions  and  a  new  tone 
in  intercourse.  Nobody  was  addressed  by  the  first  name; 
the  throwing  of  paper  balls  ceased,  and  no  one  on  going 
home  found  bits  of  paper  stuck  in  her  hair.  Phrases  like 
"sacredness  of  a  vocation*'  and  "consecration  of  life"  were 
cheapened  by  repetition ;  but  so  also  were  love  episodes  and 
secret  betrothals. 

For  the  first  time  Lilly  experienced  a  slight  feeling  of 
envy — she  was  neither  engaged,  nor  did  the  least  love 
affair  come  her  way.  Such  trivialities  as  anonymous  bou- 
quets or  verses  bearing  the  superscription,  "Thine  for- 
ever," with  two  initial  letters  intertwined,  were,  of  course, 
not  to  be  counted. 

But  her  time  came.  Her  love  was  compounded  of  mar- 
ble statues  and  temple  pillars,  of  evergreen  cypresses  and 
a  sky  eternally  blue,  of  pity  and  yearning  for  the  far-off,  of 
a  pupirs  adoration  for  her  teacher,  and  of  a  desire  to 
save. 

He  was  assistant  instructor  in  science  in  the  girls'  high 
school,  and  taught  in  the  lower  grades,  where  the  ruler  is 
still  used  on  pupils*  knuckles  and  tongues  are  stuck  out 
behind  the  teacher's  back  in  revenge.  He  gave  no  instruc- 
tion whatever  in  the  higher  classes,  but  delivered  lectures 
on  the  history  of  art  to  the  Selecta. 


22  The  Song  of  Songs 

*' History  of  art.''  The  very  words  are  enough  to  send 
a  shiver  of  ecstasy  through  a  maiden's  soul.  How  much 
greater  the  charm  when  a  suffering  young  man  with  deep- 
set,  burning  eyes  and  a  lily-white  forehead  expounds  the 
subject ! 

His  first  name  was  Arpad. 

But  there  the  romance  ended.  What  remained  was  a 
poor  consumptive,  who  had  painfully  earned  his  way 
through  the  university  by  private  tutoring,  only  to  fall  a 
victim  to  the  grave  just  when  he  had  hoped  to  reap  the 
scant  fruit  of  the  sufferings  of  his  youth.  His  superiors 
helped  him  to  the  extent  of  their  ability.  They  assigned 
him  the  easiest  classes,  and  as  soon  as  they  noticed  the 
fever  stains  burning  on  his  cheeks,  they  obtained  a  sub- 
stitute in  his  place  and  sent  him  home.  But  they  suc- 
ceeded in  securing  only  a  short  respite,  during  which  the 
dying  man  became  a  burden  to  the  teaching  staff.  Feeling 
this  himself  he  put  forth  suicidal  energy  to  disarm  what- 
ever criticism  might  be  made  against  his  ability  to  work. 
He  eagerly  assumed  all  possible  duties  in  his  line,  and 
what  the  most  industrious  and  ambitious  man  found  too 
difficult  he,  who  stood  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  with  no 
career  ahead  of  him,  gladly  took  upon  his  shoulders. 

The  day  the  principal  introduced  him  to  the  Selecta 
remained  fixed  in  Lilly's  memory.  It  was  between  three 
and  four  o'clock,  the  last  hour,  when  the  almighty  prin- 
cipal's portly  belly  unexpectedly  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. He  entered  followed  by  the  slender,  good-looking 
young  man  with  a  slight  stoop,  who  stood  at  Miss  Hen- 
nig 's  right  side  during  morning  services  in  the  main  hall 
and  dog-eared  the  pages  of  his  hymn-book  while  the 
anthem  was  being  sung.  He  wore  a  tight  grey  coat,  which 
emphasised  his  slimness,  and  his  shining  modish  silk  vest 
cast  a  false  glitter  of  the  world  of  society  over  him.     He 


'The  Song  of  Songs  23 

made  two  or  three  abrupt  bows  to  the  class,  like  a  lieu- 
tenant, and  looked  very  shy  and  embarrassed. 

**Dr.  Malzer/'  said  the  principal,  presenting  him. 
**He  will  introduce  you  to  the  art  of  the  Renaissance.  I 
should  like  you,  young  ladies,  to  listen  most  attentively, 
for  although  the  subject  is  not  obligatory,  and  you  will 
not  have  to  pass  an  examination  in  it,  it  is  of  great  im- 
portance for  general  education,  and  I  shall  have  occasion 
to  test  your  progress  in  the  literature  class  when  we  take 
up,  for  example,  Lessing,  Goethe,  or  Winckelmann. ' ' 

With  these  words  he  strutted  out  of  the  room. 

The  young  pedagogue  twirled  his  little  blond  moustache, 
which  fell  in  two  thin  scraggly  tufts  over  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  A  smile  both  bashful  and  sarcastic  flitted 
across  his  face.  He  looked  around  irresolutely  for  the 
chair,  hesitating,  apparently,  whether  to  sit  down  or  re- 
main standing. 

Meta  Jachmann,  with  her  usual  inclination  to  be  silly, 
began  to  giggle,  and  soon  half  the  class  had  followed  suit. 
A  hot  red  spread  over  the  teacher's  wan  face. 

**  Laugh,  ladies,  laugh, '*  he  said  with  a  voice  which  de- 
spite its  weakness  shook  his  narrow  chest.  **  Persons  in 
your  position  may  well  laugh;  for  a  life  full  of  activity 
and  vigour  lies  ahead  of  you.  I  may  rejoice,  too,  for  I 
am  peimitted  to  speak  to  you  as  soul  to  soul;  which  is  a 
piece  of  good  fortune  that  rarely  falls  to  the  lot  of  a 
novice  in  the  teaching  profession.  You  will  find  that  out 
from  your  own  experience  soon  enough.'* 

The  class  grew  still  as  a  mouse.  From  that  moment 
on  he  had  the  girls  in  his  grip. 

**But  that's  not  the  whole  of  my  good  fortune,"  he 
continued.  *  *  The  theme  which  the  authorities  of  this  insti- 
tution have  entrusted  to  my  slender  ability — whether  from 
magnanimity  toward  me,  or  lack  of  respect  for  the  sub- 


24  The  Song  of  Songs 

ject,  I  cannot  say — is  the  highest  theme  which  human 
tradition  knows.  Every  personal  expression  in  history, 
however  defiant,  revolutionary,  or  alien  the  voice  of  the 
chosen  one  that  uttered  it,  later  exegesis  used  as  moral 
fodder  with  which  to  satiate  the  masses.  The  only  per- 
sonages with  whom  this  did  not  succeed  were  the  men  of 
the  Renaissance.  The  nine  times  wise  branded  Plato  as  s 
shield  bearer  of  Christianity,  Horace  as  a  pedant,  Augus- 
tine as  a  church  saint,  Jesus  as  the  Son  of  God.  But  no 
one  has  ever  undertaken  to  make  of  Michael  Angelo,  of 
Alexander  Borgia,  of  Machiavelli,  anything  but  an  ego, 
an  ego  which  faces  surrounding  conditions  and  the  world 
either  as  creator  or  destroyer,  relying  on  the  fulness  of  his 
own  power." 

The  young  souls  sat  up  and  listened.  Never  had  any- 
one spoken  to  them  in  such  a  tone.  They  felt  he  was 
talking  his  life  away,  but  in  the  very  moment  they  real- 
ised this,  they  drew  a  chain  of  freemasonry  about  him 
with  which  they  shielded  him. 

He  continued.  With  bold  rapid  strokes,  which  wrung 
new  life  from  the  dead,  he  pictured  to  them  the  time  and 
the  men.  The  accumulation  of  many  years  of  repression 
now  burst  from  him  in  passionate  utterance. 

His  auditors  suspected  that  here  was  more  than  a  school 
lesson,  more,  even,  than  the  harvest  of  scholarship.  They 
divined  that  they  were  listening  to  a  confession  of  faith; 
and  they  attached  themselves  to  him  with  all  the  rapturous 
abandon  of  a  woman  and  pupil,  most  rapturous  when  they 
did  not  understand. 

Lilly  being  one  of  the  younger  girls  sat  nearest  to  the 
instructor.  She  had  a  vague  feeling,  as  of  a  flood  of 
new,  ineffably  beautiful  melodies  being  poured  over  her. 
Since  everything  in  her  life  and  imagination  had  hith- 
erto centred  about  music,  she  had  first  to  translate  pic- 


The  Song  of  Songs  '25 

i]res~SQCl  thoughts  into  the  world  of  sound,  before  her 
perceptions  could  grasp  them. 

She  turned  pale,  and  sat  there  squeezing  her  handker- 
chief in  her  left  hand.  Her  eyes  staring  at  him  clouded 
over  with  moisture  in  the  joy  of  surmise.  She  saw  his 
breast  working,  saw  the  drops  of  perspiration  on  his  fore- 
head, saw  the  flames  burning  on  his  cheeks ;  she  wanted  to 
weep,  to  laugh,  she  wanted  to  cry:  **Stop!'*  But  she 
might  not  So  she  sat  motionless,  and  listened  to  the  poor 
suppressed  voice  proclaiming  the  evangel  of  that  old  time 
which  is  still  new.  She  listened  also  to  another  voice 
which  cried  jubilantly  deep  down  in  her  heart:  "Let 
there  be !'' 

**But  how  does  the  world  look,''  he  continued,  **in 
which  that  high-keyed  life  developed?  Like  Moses,  I  have 
viewed  it  only  from  the  mountain.  I  have  loitered  a  little 
in  its  outer  courts,  but  I  have  seen  enough  for  me  to  know 
that  my  soul  will  never  cease  to  desire  it  while  breath 
remains  in  my  body.  There  between  cypresses  and  ever- 
green oaks,  temples  and  palaces  sprang  up  in  white  glory 
from  the  soil,  seeming  like  a  part  of  it.  What  is  clay 
here  is  marble  there;  what  is  routine  here  is  free  crea- 
tive energy  there;  our  feeble  imitation  there  is  spon- 
taneous growth.  Here  laborious,  grafted  culture,  there 
the  grace  of  a  happy  nature;  here  poverty-stricken  pur- 
suit of  the  useful,  there  voluptuous  passion  for  the  beau- 
tiful ;  here  sober,  subtly  reasoning  Protestantism,  there 
glad,  naive.  Catholic  paganism.'' 

This  came  to  Lilly  like  a  blow  on  the  head.  She  had 
been  raised  by  Catholic  parents  in  a  Protestant  country. 
Though  there  had  been  little  place  for  piety  in  her  home, 
a  great  deal  of  religious  enthusiasm  dwelt  in  her  soul, 
fostered  by  an  imaginative  faculty  and  a  compelling  emo- 
tionalism.    To  hear  her  Catholicism  praised  did  her  heart 


26  The  Song  of  Songs 

good,  but  why  it  should  be  linked,  almost  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  the  wicked  heathens,  whom  she  had  been 
taught  to  despise  and  deplore,  was  a  riddle  to  her.  Her 
mind  was  a  whirl  of  anxious  thoughts  and  queries.  She 
was  unable  to  follow  the  speaker  any  longer,  and  lost  the 
thread  of  his  discourse,  until  after  a  while  she  heard  him, 
in  soft  caressing  words,  give  a  picture  of  the  southern 
country. 

She  saw  the  golden-blue  summer  sky  rising  over  the  isles 
of  the  blessed,  she  saw  the  sun 's  bloody  disk  dip  into  the  sea 
blackened  by  the  breath  of  the  sirocco,  saw  the  shepherd 
with  his  flute  of  Pan  pasturing  his  long-haired  goats  on 
the  shining  meadows  of  asphodel,  saw  the  evergreen  forest, 
clambering  up  the  slopes  of  the  Apennines  to  their  snow- 
clad  peaks.  She  breathed  in  the  fragrance  of  the  laurels 
and  strawberries  and  inhaled  the  olive  vapours,  which,  at 
the  sounding  of  the  Angelus,  ascended  heavenward  in  blue 
pillars,  like  the  offerings  of  a  prayer. 

When  she  glanced  up  again,  she  almost  started  back  in 
fright.  A  consuming,  tortured  look  of  yearning  shot  from 
his  eyes  as  they  stared  with  clairvoyant  gaze,  past  them  all, 
into  emptiness. 

The  bell  rang,  the  hour  wa^  over.  He  looked  around 
like  a  somnambulist  roused  from  sleep,  snatched  up  his 
hat,  and  rushed  from  the  room.  Sacred  silence  remained. 
After  a  while  the  tension  was  broken  by  a  whisper  here 
and  there  and  by  a  shy  fumbling  for  school-bags. 

Lilly  spoke  to  no  one,  and  managed  to  make  her  escape 
into  the  street  alone.  Humming  and  weeping  softly  she 
walked  home. 

The  next  morning  there  was  profound  excitement  in  the 
Selecta.  The  waves  set  in  motion  by  the  great  event  of 
the  day  before  continued  to  vibrate. 


The  Song  of  Songs  27i 

Anna  Marholz,  the  daughter  of  a  physician,  who  was 
a  member  of  the  Board  of  Health,  brought  some  facts 
about  the  young  instructor's  life.  It  was  absolutely  nec- 
essary, she  reported,  for  Dr.  Maker  to  go  to  the  south.  If 
he  remained  at  home,  he  would  probably  not  survive  the 
winter. 

Lilly's  heart  stood  still.  The  others  considered  ways 
and  means  of  helping  him.  Since  he  lacked  the  money 
and  since  the  city  would  not  assume  the  cost  of  so  long  a 
leave  of  absence,  especially  as  his  position  was  not  yet 
assured,  the  means  for  saving  him  would  have  to  be  ob- 
tained privately. 

''Let's  form  a  committee,"  one  girl  proposed,  and  the 
others  seconded  enthusiastically. 

''Thank  God,"  Lilly  thought.  She  felt  as  if  his  life 
had  already  been  prolonged  by  forty  or  fifty  years. 

At  the  ten  o'clock  recess  they  lost  no  time  in  getting 
together  for  urgent  deliberation.  Officers  were  chose*, 
and  Lilly  had  the  inexpressible  joy  of  emerging  from  the 
election  in  the  dignity  of  secretary. 

A  few  days  later  the  first  meeting  took  place  in  Klein's 
confectionery  shop — they  did  not  venture  into  Frangi- 
pani's,  the  resort  of  military  officers  and  city  officials — in 
the  course  of  which  fifteen  young  ladies  consumed  fifteen 
small  meringues  glaces  and  fifteen  cups  of  chocolate,  busi- 
ness expenses  subsequently  to  be  divided  among  them. 
Various  promising  plans  were  submitted  for  consideration. 
Emily  Faber  suggested  that  a  public  reading  of  Romeo 
and  Juliet  with  assigned  roles  be  given  in  the  club  house, 
and  the  leading  man  of  the  city  theatre  be  asked  to  take 
the  part  of  Romeo.  The  proposal  received  unanimous 
approval;  for  this  leading  man  was  one  of  the  most  be- 
loved of  leading  men  that  ever  found  his  way  into  girls' 
hearts. 


28  The  Song  of  Songs 

Kate  Vitzing,  whose  cousin  was  tenor  of  the  boys'  high 
school  quartette,  proposed  an  amateur  concert  to  be  given 
jointly  by  the  quartette  and  the  Selecta.  This,  too,  was 
unanimously  approved. 

Finally,  Rosalie  Katz,  who  was  of  a  practical  turn,  sub- 
mitted a  scheme  for  printing  subscription  blanks  to  be 
presented  to  well-to-do  citizens.  This  plan  gave  less  satis- 
faction, but  in  the  end  the  girls  agreed  that  one  good  thing 
need  not  exclude  another,  and  decided  to  put  all  three 
projects  into  execution. 

Lilly  conscientiously  recorded  all  the  transactions,  and 
her  heart  went  pit-a-pat,  **For  him!'' 

The  lectures  on  the  history  of  art  followed  their  regu- 
lar course ;  so  also  the  meetings  of  the  aid  committee.  The 
consumption  of  meringues  glaces  and  cups  of  chocolate  re- 
mained on  about  the  same  level,  but  enthusiasm  for  the 
cause  markedly  diminished.  Not  that  Dr.  Malzer's  sub- 
sequent lectures  offered  ground  for  disillusionment.  Rich 
alike  in  substance  and  figures  of  speech,  they  never  failed 
to  win  the  same  tense  sympathy  from  the  girls.  But  the 
plans  for  helping  him  had  met  with  serious  obstacles. 

The  much-beloved  Romeo  had  been  engaged  to  perform 
in  another  city  at  the  beginning  of  the  autumn,  the  quar- 
tette had  been  refused  permission  to  cooperate  with  the 
Selecta,  and  a  permit  from  the  police  department  was 
necessary  for  a  house  to  house  collection.  None  of  the 
girls  dared  apply  for  it. 

Thus,  the  great  life-preserving  idea  gradually  petered 
out,  terminating  in  a  confectioner's  bill,  of  which  three 
marks  eighty  fell  to  Lilly's  share.  Lilly  well  knew  the 
way  to  the  pawnbroker's,  and  she  did  not  have  to  pluck 
up  courage  before  relinquishing  the  little  gold  cross  that 
she  wore  about  her  neck,  the  last  remnant  of  better  days. 
Besides,  it  was  all  for  his  sake. 


The  Song  of  Songs  29 

Autumn  came,  and  Dr.  Malzer  grew  worse.  He 
coughed  a  great  deal,  each  time  putting  his  handkerchief 
to  his  mouth  and  then  examining  it  furtively. 

One  day  the  girls  were  told  that  the  lectures  on  the 
history  of  art  would  be  discontinued  until  further  notice. 

Anna  Marholz  reported  he  had  had  a  hemorrhage. 

Lilly  did  not  stop  to  ask  for  an  explanation  of  what 
■:hat  meant. 

*'He's  dying,  he's  dying!''  was  the  cry  in  her  soul. 

After  dark  she  stole  to  his  house  (Anna  Marholz  had 
found  his  address  in  one  of  her  father's  books).  A  weary, 
green-shaded  lamp  was  burning  in  his  room.  Not  a 
shadow  stirred,  no  hand  appeared  at  the  window-curtain. 
But  the  little  lamp  continued  to  burn  patiently  for  hours 
and  hours,  despite  its  weariness,  all  the  time  that  Lilly 
trotted  up  and  down  the  damp  street  in  front  of  his  house, 
full  of  conscientious  scruples  for  having  robbed  her  toiling 
mother  of  her  help. 

The  adventure  was  repeated  the  following  evenings,  and 
anxiety  waxed  in  Lilly's  soul.  She  pictured  him  lying 
there  gasping  for  breath,  with  no  woman's  hand  to  wipe 
the  death  sweat  from  his  brow. 

On  Saturday  her  solicitude  drove  her  from  her  work- 
table  early  in  the  afternoon.  To  patrol  his  house  in  broad 
daylight  was  impossible,  but  she  ventured  to  pass  it  once, 
and  lacked  the  courage  to  return.  Then  she  was  seized 
by  a  heroic  resolve.  She  went  to  the  florist's  shop,  and 
sacrificing  the  two  marks  eighty  left  over  from  the  trans- 
action of  the  little  cross,  she  walked  back  to  his  house  with 
a  brownish  yellow  bouquet  of  drooping  autumn  roses. 

Without  stopping  to  think  she  ran  up  the  steps,  and 
rang  at  the  door  of  the  second  story,  where  she  had  seen 
the  green  lamp. 

An  old  woman  in  a  soiled  blue  apron  and  mumbling  her 


so  The  Song  of  Songs 

lips  opened  the  door.    Lilly  stammered  Dr.  Maker's  name. 

*'In  the  rear/*  said  the  woman,  and  shut  the  door. 

Then  the  little  green  lamp  did  not  burn  for  him.  An 
old  woman  lived  there,  who  wore  a  dirty  apron  and  whose 
lips  kept  mumbling.  For  a  week  she  had  been  worship- 
ping a  false  idol.  Disappointed,  she  was  about  to  steal 
down  the  stairs,  when  her  eye  caught  his  name  among  four 
door-plates.  Her  heart  leapt,  and  before  she  knew  it,  she 
had  knocked. 

A  brief  interval  elapsed  before  his  head  appeared 
behind  the  door,  which  he  held  only  partly  open.  The 
lapels  of  his  grey  coat  were  raised  to  cover  his  neck,  which 
apparently  was  collarless.  His  hair  was  in  wild  disorder, 
and  the  ends  of  his  moustache  were  more  matted  than  ever. 
And  how  his  eyes  glared  as  they  seemed  to  demand  in 
embarrassment,  **What  do  you  want?" 

*'Miss — Miss — Miss — "  he  stammered.  He  appeared  to 
recognise  her,  but  failed  to  recall  her  name. 

Lilly  wanted  to  give  him  the  bouquet  and  run  away,  but 
she  remained  rooted  to  the  spot  as  if  paralysed. 

**You  have  been  sent  here  by  your  class,  I  presume/' 
he  said. 

"Yes,  yes,''  Lilly  answered  eagerly.  That  was  her 
salvation. 

''Otherwise,  you  see,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to 
invite  you  to  come  in,"  he  continued  with  a  shy  smile. 
*'It  might  have  very  serious  consequences  for  both  of  us. 
But  as  a  delegate — "  he  reflected  a  moment —  '*come  in, 
please." 

Lilly  had  imagined  him  living  in  high,  spacious  apart- 
ments, surrounded  by  carved  bookcases,  vases,  globes,  and 
busts  of  great  men.  In  dismay  she  observed  a  little  room 
with  only  one  window,  an  unmade  bed,  an  open  card  table, 
a  clothes-rack,  and  a  small  book-stand  holding  mostly  un- 


The  Song  of  Songs  31 

bound  and  crumpled  old  volumes.  Such  were  his 
quarters. 

*^He  lives  more  wretchedly  than  we  do/^  she  thought. 

At  his  invitation  she  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  two 
chairs,  feeling  less  embarrassed  than  she  had  expected  to. 
Poverty  shared  alike  brought  them  nearer  to  each  other. 

*  *  How  lovely  in  the  young  ladies  to  remember  me ! " 

Lilly  recollected  the  flowers  she  still  held  in  her  hand. 

*'0h,  excuse  me/*  she  said,  proffering  them. 

He  took  the  bouquet  without  a  word  of  thanks,  and 
pressed  them  against  his  face. 

**They  don't  smell,''  he  said,  '*they  are  the  last — but 
my  first.  So  you  can  imagine  how  precious  they  are  to 
me." 

Lilly  felt  her  eyes  growing  dim  with  joy. 

**Are  you  still  in  pain,  Dr.  Malzer?"  she  managed  to 
ask. 

He  laughed. 

**Pain?  No.  I  don't  suffer  from  pain.  A  little  fever 
now  and  then — but  the  fever's  pleasant,  very  amusing. 
Your  soul  seems  to  soar  in  a  balloon  away  over  everything 
— over  cities,  countries,  seas,  over  centuries,  too ;  and  often 
great  persons  come  to  visit  you,  persons,  if  not  so  beau- 
tiful— that  is  to  say — I  beg  your  pardon — " 

His  compliment  frightened  him.  Why,  he  was  the 
teacher  and  she  the  pupil. 

J^  the  midst  of  his  embarrassment  a  certain  blindness 
■eemed  suddenly  to  drop  away  from  him.  He  stared  at 
^er  with  eyes  burning  like  torches  in  two  blue  hollows. 

^' What  is  your  name?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  even  shriller 
and  hoarser  than  usual. 

''Lilly,  Lilly  Czepanek." 

The  name  was  not  familiar  to  him,  as  he  had  been  in 
the  city  only  a  short  time. 


.32  The  Song  of  Songs 

**You  intend  to  become  a  teacher?'* 

*^  Yes,  Dr.  Malzer.'' 
«  **Do  you  know  what?  Get  yourself  exiled  to  Russia 
and  throw  bombs.  Go  to  a  pest-house  and  wash  sores. 
Marry  a  drunkard,  who  will  beat  you  and  sell  your  bed 
from  under  your  body.  Don*t  become  a  teacher — not 
you.'' 

**Why  not  just  I?" 

**I  will  tell  you  why.  A  flat-breasted  person  with 
watery  eyes  and  falling  hair  who  can  only  see  one  side  of 
a  subject — such  a  creature  should  be  a  teacher.  Some- 
body without  the  blood  and  nerve  to  live  his  own  life  can 
teach  others  to  live — he's  good  enough  for  that.  But  he 
whose  blood  flows  through  his  body  like  fluid  fire,  whose 
yearning  spurts  from  his  eyes,  to  whom  the  problems  of 
life  exist  for  seeing  and  knowing,  not  for  paltry  criticism, 
he  who — but  I  mustn't  talk  to  you  about  that,  though  I 
should  very  much  like  to.'* 

** Please  do,  please,"  Lilly  implored. 

**How  old  are  you?" 

*^  Sixteen." 

**And  already  a  woman."  His  eyes  scanned  her  in 
pained  admiration.  **Look  at  me,"  he  continued.  **I, 
too,  was  once  a  human  being — you  wouldn't  believe  it — ■ 
I,  too,  once  stretched  two  sturdy  arms  longingly  to  heaven ; 
I,  too,  once  looked  with  desire  into  a  girl's  eyes,  though 
not  into  such  as  yours.  Let  me  prattle.  A  dying  man 
can  do  no  harm." 

*'But  you  shall  not  die,"  she  cried,  jumping  from  her 
seat. 

He  laughed. 

"Sit  down,  child,  and  don't  excite  yourself  about  me., 
It  doesn't  pay.  A  friend  of  mine  once  broke  the  back- 
bone of  a  cat  that  had  gone  mad.     He  did  it  with  one  blow 


The  Song  of  Songs  33 

of  a  stick.  The  cat  couldn^t  run  away,  she  couldn't  howl, 
she  couldn't  do  anything  but  just  remain  on  all  fours 
and  cough  and  choke  and  cough  and  choke — until  the 
second  blow  came.  That's  the  way  it  is  with  me.  There's 
nothing  to  be  done.  Go  away,  child,  I've  already  made 
my  peace,  but  when  I  look  at  you  my  heart  grows  heayy 
again." 

Lilly  turned  her  face  away  to  hide  her  tears. 

**Must  ir'sheasked. 

**Must?"  He  laughed  again.  **I  shall  feed  on  every 
minute  of  your  presence  as  a  hungry  man  feeds  on  the 
crumbs  he  digs  out  of  his  pockets.  You  sat  on  the  left 
end  of  the  first  bench.  I  remember.  I  said  to  myself, 
'What  a  pair  of  improbable  eyes!  Such  eyes  the  magie 
dogs  6f  Andersen's  tales  must  have,  eyes  to  which  you 
would  like  to  say.  Please  don't  make  such  big  eyes.  And 
from  being  thought  big,  they  grow  still  bigger  and 
bigger.'  " 

Now  Lilly  laughed. 

**You  see,"  he  said,  **I  have  made  you  merry  again. 
You  must  not  carry  away  too  deathlike  a  picture  from  here. 
Our  lessons  were  beautiful,  weren't  theyf" 

Lilly  answered  with  a  sigh. 

''When  I  spoke  of  Italy,  you  gasped  a  couple  of  times 
from  sheer  longing.  I  thought  to  myself:  *  She's  gasp- 
ing just  like  yourself,  yet  she  doesn't  need  it.'  " 

** Would  you  like  to  go  there  very,  very  much?"  Lilly 
ventured  to  ask. 

**Ask  a  man  on  fire  whether  he  would  like  to  take  a  cold 
plunge." 

*'And  it's  the  only  thing  that  would  save  your  life?" 

He  looked  her  up  and  down  a  moment  with  a  black, 
morose  gaze. 

**Why  are  you  questioning  me?    What  do  you  want  to 


34  The  Song  of  Songs 

find  out?  Tell  the  young  ladies  of  your  class  that  I'm 
very  grateful  to  them,  tell  them  I'm  touched  by  their 
sympathy,  I — '' 

An  attack  of  coughing  choked  him.  Lilly  jumped  up 
and  looked  about  for  help.  She  instinctively  seized  a 
glass  from  the  folding-table,  which  was  half  filled  with  a 
pale  liquid,  and  held  it  to  his  mouth.  He  groped  for  it 
eagerly.  After  drinking  he  fell  back  exhausted,  and 
looked  at  her  gratefully,  tenderly.  She  returned  his  look 
with  a  feeble  smile,  thinking  only  one  thought: 

**What  happiness  to  be  here!" 

It  was  so  quiet  in  the  dark,  overheated  room  that  she 
could  hear  the  ticking  of  his  watch,  which  hung  on  the 
wall  not  far  away.  He  wanted  to  sit  up  and  speak,  but 
he  seemed  not  to  have  recovered  sufficient  strength.  Lilly 
gave  him  an  imploring  look  of  warning.  He  smiled  and 
leaned  back  again.     So  they  sat  in  silence. 

*'What  happiness!'*  thought  Lilly.  ''What  great, 
great  happiness  !'* 

Then  he  stretched  out  his  hands  to  her  wearily.  She 
took  them  in  an  eager  grasp  of  both  her  own.  They  felt 
hot  and  clammy,  and  his  pulse  beat  down  to  his  finger- 
tips. It  went  twice  as  fast  as  hers,  for  she  could  feel 
hers,  too. 

''Listen,  child,  sweet,"  he  whispered.  *'I  want  to  give 
you  a  piece  of  good  advice  to  carry  away  with  you.  You 
have  too  much  love  in  you.  All  three  kinds:  love  of  the 
heart,  love  of  the  senses,  love  springing  from  pity.  One 
of  them  everybody  must  have  if  he's  not  to  be  a  fossil. 
Two  are  dangerous.  All  three  lead  to  ruin.  Be  on 
guard  against  your  own  love.  Don't  squander  it.  That's 
my  advice,  the  advice  of  one  on  whom  you  cannot  squan- 
der it,  for  I  can  use  it — God  knows  how  well  I  can  use  it ! " 

*'Have  you  nobody  to  stay  with  you?"  she  asked,  dread- 


The  Song  of  Songs  35. 

ing  to  hear  that,  some  other  woman  had  the  right  to  nurse 
him. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"May  I  come  again?" 

He  started,  struck  by  the  ardour  with  which  she  asked 
the  question. 

**If  the  class  sends  you  again,  of  course." 

Lilly  cast  aside  all  reserve. 

*'That  was  a  lie,"  she  stammered.  '*Not  a  soul  knows 
I  came  here." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  almost  like  a  man  in  good  health. 
His  face  lengthened,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He 
stretched  out  his  hands,  which  were  trembling  violently, 
as  if  to  ward  her  off. 

"Go,"  he  whispered.     "Go!" 

Lilly  did  not  stir. 

"If  you  don't  go,"  he  went  on,  excitement  almost 
stifling  his  words,  "you  will  ruin  your  future.  Young 
ladies  do  not  visit  unmarried  men  who  live  the  way  I  do — 
even  if  the  man  is  their  teacher  and  sick  as  I  am.  Tell  no 
one  that  you  have  been  here,  no  friend,  not  a  single  human 
being.  Your  livelihood  depends  upon  your  reputation. 
I  cannot  steal  your  bread.     Please  go/' 

"May  I  never  come  again?"     Her  eyes  pled  with  him. 

"No!  !"  he  shouted  in  a  voice  like  riven  iron. 

Lilly  felt  herself  being  shoved  through  the  doorway. 
The  key  was  turned  in  the  lock  behind  her. 


She  disobeyed  his  injunction  that  very  hour.  She  ran 
to  Rosalie  Katz,  her  friend  du  jour,  to  confess  everything 
and  relieve  her  feelings  in  tears.  'The  little  brown  Jewess 
had  a  soft  heart  and  was  also  head  over  heels  in  love  with 
her  teacher,  and  so  the  girls  wept  together. 


36  The  Song  of  Songs 

But  they  had  forgotten  to  lock  the  door,  and  thus  it 
happened  that  Mr.  Katz,  whose  wealth  and  social  position 
found  pictorial  expression  in  a  round  paunch,  and  whose 
waistcoat  buttons  consequently  were  always  coming  loose, 
entered  his  daughter's  room  to  have  one  sewed  on. 

When  he  discovered  the  girls  in  tearful  embrace,  he 
discreetly  retired.  But  the  instant  Lilly  had  left  the 
house,  he  extracted  all  the  completer  a  confession  from 
his  daughter.  He  learned  the  story  of  the  sick  teacher, 
the  abortive  committee  meetings,  and  the  futile  mer- 
ingues glaces. 

**Well,  we  can  fix  that,'*  he  said  with  a  smirk,  twirling 
the  very  thin  watch  chain — heavy  watch  chains  were  worn 
only  by  those  among  the  grain  merchants  who  had  re- 
mained below  on  the  social  scale — which  branched  out  to 
the  right  and  to  the  left  from  the  third  buttonhole  of  his 
waistcoat. 

A  week  later  Dr.  Malzer  received  a  registered  letter 
from  two  strangers  informing  him  that  means  had  been 
fourd  to  enable  him  to  make  a  lengthy  sojourn  in  the 
south.  All  he  needed  to  do  was  obtain  leave  of  absence 
and  draw  the  first  payment  at  the  office  of  Goldbaum, 
Katz  &  Co. 

He  departed  on  a  cold,  crisp  October  evening.  The 
faculty  accompanied  him  to  the  station.  Lilly  and  Rosa- 
lie, who  had  learned  the  time  of  his  leaving  at  papa  Katz's 
office,  also  were  present,  but  they  kept  themselves  in  the 
background. 

He  glided  past  them  muffled  in  a  thick  scarf,  his  fiery 
eyes  turned  upon  the  distance. 

When  the  train  left,  the  two  girls  flung  themselves  into 
each  other's  arms  and  wept  for  love  and  pride. 

On  their  way  home  Rosalie  invited  her  friend  to  have 


The  Song  of  Songs  37 

an  6clair  with  her,  for  it  had  grown  too  cold  for  mer- 
ingues glacis. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  sitting  in  the  confec- 
tionery shop  smiling  at  each  other  and  looking  at  the 
pictures  in  the  illustrated  papers. 


CHAPTER  IV 

With  the  advent  of  spring  a  new  and  gayer  existence 
began  for  Mrs.  Czepanek. 

He  was  soon  coming,  that  was  certain.  But  even  if 
the  time  was  short,  why  spend  it  over  that  disgusting  sew- 
ing ?     There  was  a  less  wearing  way  of  making  a  living. 

The  thing  was  simple  enough — rent  an  apartment  of 
nine  rooms,  buy  the  furniture  on  credit,  and  have  a  plate 
hung  on  the  outside  of  the  house  inscribed:  *' Board  and 
Lodging  for  Students.'*  As  for  the  rest,  well,  a  way 
would  be  found. 

This  little  set  of  thoughts  took  exclusive  possession  of 
Mrs.  Czepanek 's  poor  brain,  riddled  like  a  sieve  by  the 
incessant  whirr  of  the  sewing-machine. 

Though  such  a  careless  existence  appealed  to  Lilly's 
fancy,  she  harboured  some  small  doubts.  In  the  first  place 
the  clamouring,  threatening  duns  that  had  besieged  their 
home  after  papa's  departure  were  still  fresh  in  her  shud- 
dering memory.  Then  she  did  not  see  quite  clearly  where 
so  many  students,  enough  to  fill  a  nine-room  apartment, 
were  suddenly  to  come  from  after  the  beginning  of  the 
summer  semester,  since  all  had  secured  quarters  already. 

But  her  mother  would  listen  to  no  objections. 

**I  will  go  to  the  directors,  I  will  go  to  the  mayor,  I 
will — "  and  the  attic  room  resounded  with  the  new  tri- 
umphant,''I  will— " 

Now  began  a  series  of  mysterious  expeditions.  Fre- 
quently, when  Lilly  returned  from  school,  she  could  tell 

38 


The  Song  of  Songs  39 

at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  that  the  machine,  whose  indus- 
trious clatter  had  greeted  her  for  years,  was  at  a  standstill, 
and  she  would  find  the  key  to  the  room  under  the  door- 
mat. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  the  great  event,  the  mother 
became  more  taciturn.  A  crafty  smile  lay  on  her  face, 
which,  but  for  an  admixture  of  scorn,  was  like  the  smile 
parents  wear  before  Christmas.  She  painted  her  cheeks 
_more  carefully  than  ever,  and  the  jar  of  rouge,  which 
previously  she  had  kept  locked  away  from  Lilly,  reposed 
unabashed  on  the  top  of  the  chest. 

But  money  grew  rapidly  scarcer.  Lilly  had  to  give  up 
every  minute  she  could  spare  from  school  work  to  make 
up  for  her  mother's  remissness,  while  Mrs.  Czepanek  went 
about  calculating  and  speculating.  She  put  her  foot  to 
the  treadle  only  on  rare  occasions,  when  Lilly  pled  with 
her  urgently.  The  delivery  of  finished  articles  became 
more  and  more  irregular,  and  the  two  women  were  in 
danger  of  losing  their  entire  means  of  subsistence. 

Lilly's  vast  hoard  of  youthful  strength  threatened  to 
give  out.     Yet  this  did  not  cause  her  overmuch  concern. 

** Something '11  turn  up,"  she  thought. 

If  only  she  could  have  gotten  one  good  night's  rest,  in- 
stead of  lying  dressed  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  from  two  to 
six  in  the  morning,  she  would  not  have  grudged  her 
mother  her  youthful  intoxication  born  of  young  hopes. 

Lilly  sat  in  school  with  tired,  reddened  eyes,  a  filmy  veil 
between  her  and  the  world,  between  her  and  the  thoughts 
she  was  expected  to  think.  Her  teachers  began  to  find 
fault  with  her. 

It  was  high  time  for  the  new  life  to  begin. 

It  began  on  a  hot,  drab  July  day. 

On  returning  from  school  Lilly  saw  two  waggons  stand- 
ing outside  the  door  loaded  with  furniture  smelling  of 


40  The  Song  of  Songs 

fresh  varnish.  Even  before  she  set  foot  on  the  lowest  step 
she  could  hear  her  mother's  shrill  voice  apparently  raised 
in  altercation  with  strangers. 

Lilly  ran  upstairs,  her  heart  beating  fast.  Two  drivers 
wearing  black  leather  aprons  were  standing"  there,  one 
with  a  bill  in  his  hand  demanding  money.  A  look  of 
amusement  was  on  their  red  faces.  Mrs.  Czepanek  was 
tripping  to  and  fro,  running  her  fingers  through  her 
freshly-curled  hair  and  screaming  all  sorts  of  things  about 
rascality  and  broken  promises  and  grinding  down  the  poor. 
Whereupon  the  men  laughed,  and  said  they'd  like  to  get 
back  home  that  day. 

This  set  Mrs.  Czepanek  off  completely.  She  tried  to 
snatch  the  bill  from  the  man's  hand.  He  refused  to  give 
it  up,  and  she  set  to  pummelling  him  with  her  fists. 

Lilly  sprang  between  them,  caught  hold  of  her  mother, 
who  fought  desperately,  and  called  to  the  men  to  leave, 
telling  them  everything  would  be  arranged.  So  the  men 
took  themselves  off. 

Her  mother's  wrath  now  descended  upon  Lilly. 

**If  you  hadn't  come,"  she  screamed,  *'I  would  have 
gotten  hold  of  the  receipt,  and  everything  would  have 
been  all  right.  Now  I  have  to  go  there  tomorrow  again, 
while  if  you  hadn't  mixed  in,  the  furniture  could  have 
been  unpacked  in  the  new  apartment  this  very  day." 

''What  new  apartment?" 

Mrs.  Czepanek  laughed.  How  could  Lilly  be  so  stupid? 
Did  she  think  her  mother  had  been  going  about  idle  all 
that  time? 

Then  everything  was  revealed.  The  nine-room  apart- 
ment had  already  been  rented,  and  all  they  needed  to  do 
was  move  in.  Even  the  plate  had  already  been  made. 
When  hung  it  would  act  like  magic.  So  much  for  the  out- 
side.   But    hadn't    she    self-sacrificingly    strained    every 


The  Song  of  Songs  41 

nerve  on  the  inside  equipment,  too?  She  wasn't  going  to 
describe  the  furniture,  for  it  might  make  her  angry  again, 
but— 

She  had  bought  curtains  for  twelve  windows — the  pat- 
tern a  Chinese  lady  and  a  palm  leaf.  And  six  rugs,  good 
ones,  because  students  usually  have  a  pretty  heavy  tramp, 
and  cheap  stuff  would  wear  out  like  chiffon.  Big  English 
wash  basins  with  gold  flowers,  the  pattern  exactly  match- 
ing the  pattern  of  the  ten  stands.  Unfortunately  the 
dishes  were  not  ready  for  delivery  because  it  always  took 
three  or  four  weeks  to  have  the  monogram  burnt  in.  But 
they  would  have  to  have  something  to  eat  from,  so  for 
the  meantime  she  had  bought  a  cheaper  set — for  eighteen 
people — everything  thoroughly  refined  and  respectable. 
She  had  been  very  clever  and  very  careful  in  the  entire 
matter. 

While  engaged  in  this  description,  Mrs.  Czepanek 
walked  about  the  centre-table  with  long  shambling  steps. 
Her  small  eyes,  with  the  traces  of  many  sleepless  hours 
upon  them,  glistened  and  gleamed,  and  beneath  the  false 
glowed  the  genuine  red  on  her  haggard  cheeks. 

Lilly,  who  was  beginning  to  be  a  bit  uneasy,  ventured  to 
inquire  concerning  the  payments.  Her  mother  simply 
laughed  at  her. 

**You  are  either  a  lady  and  impress  the  tradespeople,  or 
you  are  not  a  lady.  I  think  that  I,  the  wife  of  Kilian 
Czepanek,  conductor  of  the  singing  society,  am  thoroughly 
entitled  to  be  treated  with  respect.  *' 

**Are  the  things  at  the  apartment?'* 

Mrs.  Czepanek  laughed  again. 

**What  should  I  do  with  them  before  the  apartment  is  in 
order?  Apartments  have  to  be  freshly  painted  and  pa- 
pered." Then  with  the  graceful  gesture  which  only  the 
ability  to  pay  bestows  upon  a  person,  she  added:    **I  was 


42  The  Song  of  Songs 

especially  careful  in  selecting  the  wall-paper  to  get  artistic 
patterns. ' ' 

Lilly  had  a  sickish  feeling.  It  was  like  being  in  doubt 
as  to  whether  or  not  your  schoolmates  were  teasing  you. 

Added  to  all  the  other  annoyances  nothing  had  been 
gotten  for  dinner. 

Lilly  set  the  coffee  on  to  boil  and  put  the  afternoon  rolls 
on  the  table.  Well,  then,  they  would  simply  skip  a  meal 
again.  The  two  Czepaneks  had  grown  nimble  in  that  sort 
of  skipping. 

The  mother  hastily  gulped  down  the  hot  drink.  No  time 
must  be  lost,  she  said,  they  would  have  to  get  at  the 
packing. 

At  this  point  sho  was  seized  by  another  attack  of  fury. 

** Hadn't  you  held  my  hands,  you  good-for-nothing^ 
you, ' '  she  screamed,  *  *  we  should  have  had  that  lovely  furni- 
ture in  its  place  by  tomorrow  morning.  As  it  is,  we  shall 
have  to  move  in  with  all  this  trash.  What  will  the  people 
say  when  they  see  it?'* 

She  tore  at  her  artificial  curls  and  despairingly  bran- 
dished the  bread-knife,  with  which  she  was  slicing  her  rolL 

Then  she  turned  up  the  sleeves  of  her  blouse,  and  said, 
the  packing  should  begin. 

She  emptied  the  wardrobe  and  piled  the  clothes  over  the 
bottom  of  the  bed.  The  underwear  and  linen,  the  contents 
of  their  linen  chest,  she  sent  flying  over  the  floor. 

The  sinews  of  her  withered  arms  jerked,  the  sweat 
trickled  down  her  forehead. 

Lilly,  watching  the  aimless  pother  with  an  oppressed 
feeling  at  her  heart,  noticed  the  score  of  the  Song  of 
Songs,  the  home's  greatest  treasure,  lying  on  the  floor, 
heedlessly  thrown  there  by  her  mother  along  with  night- 
gowns and  bed-clothes. 

She  stooped  to  pick  it  up. 


The  Song  of  Songs  43 

'*What  are  you  after  with  the  Song  of  Songs?"  screamed 
the  mother.  She  had  been  kneeling,  and  now  jumped  to 
her  feet. 

** Nothing,"  said  Lilly  in  surprise.  "I  was  just  going 
to  put  it  on  the  table." 

"You  lie,"  the  mother  screeched,  **you  low-down  thing. 
You  want  to  steal  it,  the  way  you  stole  the  receipt.  I'll 
spoil  your  little  game  for  you." 

Lilly  suddenly  saw  a  gleaming  something  pass  before  her 
eyes,  and  felt  a  pain  at  her  throat,  felt  something  warm 
spread  soothingly  down  to  her  left  breast. 

Not  until  her  mother  prepared  for  a  second  thrust  did 
Lilly  realise  it  was  the  bread-knife  she  was  holding  in  her 
hand.  She  uttered  a  piercing  scream,  and  grasped  her 
mother's  wrist. 

But  the  mother  had  developed  giant  strength,  and  Lilly 
would  probably  have  succumbed  in  the  struggle  that  en- 
sued, had  not  the  noise  they  made  drawn  the  neighbours  to 
the  spot. 

Mrs.  Czepanek  was  caught  from  behind,  and  bound  with 
handkerchiefs.  She  held  the  bread-knife  in  a  tight  clutch, 
which  the  strongest  man  could  not  relax,  and  did  not  drop 
it  until  an  opiate  had  been  administered  by  the  physician 
who  had  hurried  to  the  scene. 

Lilly's  wound  was  dressed,  and  she  was  taken  to  the 
hospital,  where  she  remained  temporarily,  because  they  did 
not  know  what  else  to  do  with  her.  While  at  the  hospital 
she  learned  that  her  mother  had  been  placed  in  the  district 
insane  asylum,  and  in  all  likelihood  would  never  come  out 
of  it  again. 

Lilly  was  left  alone  in  the  world. 


CHAPTEB  V 

'*WelLi,  young  lady/'  said  Mr.  Pieper,  the  prominent 
lawyer,  **I  have  been  appointed  your  guardian.  I  ac- 
cepted the  office  because  I  thought  it  my  duty — the  papers 
in  Lemke  vs.  Militzky,"  he  interrupted  himself  to  call  to 
his  managing  clerk,  who  had  just  then  entered.  **What 
was  I  going  to  say?  Oh,  yes.  Because  I  thought  it  my 
duty,  despite  my  being  an  extremely  busy  man — to  assist 
widows  and  orphans  to  the  best  of  my  feeble  ability. ' ' 

He  passed  his  exquisitely  cherished  left  hand  over  his 
shining  bald  pate  and  straw-coloured  beard,  beneath  which 
a  worldly  mouth  half  concealed  an  epicurean  smile. 

"My  wards  all  make  their  way  in  the  world,''  he  con- 
tinued. "It's  my  pride  to  have  them  succeed.  The  way 
they  do  it — well,  that's  my  affair,  a  business  secret,  so  to 
Bay.  I  am  convinced,  my  child,  that  yon,  too,  will  get 
along.  If  I  didn  't  think  so,  I  should  not  be  so  interested  in 
you  probably.  The  first  thing  is  to  get  the  young  ladies  the 
right  positions.  The  homely  ones  give  most  trouble,  unless 
they  happen  to  possess  a  certain  measure  of  self-abnega- 
tion. It  pays  them  to  assume  the  so-called  Christian  vir- 
tues. But  of  course  you  don't  belong  in  that  category — 
you  probably  know  it  yourself — I  tell  you  merely  that  you 
may  learn  with  time  to  make  demands.  I  must  explain — 
the  main  art  in  life  is  to  determine  the  boundary  line  be- 
tween demands  justifiable  and  demands  unjustifiable. 
That  is,  you  must  have  a  feeling  for  exactly  how  far  your 
powers  will  reach  in  each  circumstance  as  it  arises.  A  girl 
like  you — " 

44 


The  Song  of  Songs  45 

The  managing  clerk,  a  tall,  bony  fellow,  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  lawyer's  side  shoving  a  bundle  of  docu- 
ments at  him. 

*'At  four  o'clock  the  Labischin  divorce  case.  At  quarter 
past  five  Reimann — Reimann  vs.  Fassbender — get  every- 
thing ready,  and  have  someone  here  to  accompany  this 
young  lady — the  papers  will  tell  you  where.  That  will 
do." 

The  managing  clerk  vanished. 

**Well,''  Lilly's  guardian  resumed,  'Hhe  time  I  have  to 
spare  for  you  is  nearly  gone.  You  cannot  continue  with 
your  schooling,  that's  plain.  There's  no  money  for  it. 
But  even  if  you  had  the  means,  I'm  not  certain  whether 
in  view  of  your  future — however,  a  governess  may  make  a 
brilliant  match — it  sometimes  occurs,  chiefly,  to  be  sure,  in 
English  novels — but  there 's  the  danger,  too,  that  you  might 
' — excuse  me  for  the  word — on  the  spur  of  the  moment  I 
can 't  think  of  another — besides,  it 's  the  right  one — that  you 
might  be  seduced.  What  I  'd  rather  see  you  than  anything 
else  is  the  lady  in  a  large  photographic  establishment  who 
receives  customers.  But  it  seems  to  me  you  haven 't  enough 
self-confidence  as  yet  for  that.  One  must  make  a  deep  im-. 
pression  at  first  sight,  because  people  who  leave  an  order 
have  to  have  some  inducement  for  coming  back  to  call  for 
their  pictures.  I  've  selected  something  else  for  you,  for  the 
purpose  more  of  giving  you  a  short  period  of  trial  than 
of  providing  you  with  a  permanent  position.  It's  in  a 
circulating  library.  It  will  give  you  plenty  of  opportunity 
— discreetly,  you  know — not  to  hide  your  light  under  a 
bushel.  The  remuneration,  I  need  scarcely  say,  will  be 
moderate — free  board  and  lodging  and  twenty  marks  a 
month.  You  will  have  a  chance  to  let  your  fancy — I  sup- 
pose you're  not  yet  hlase — let  your  fancy  roam  at  will  in 


46  The  Song  of  Songs 

the  fields  of  general  literature.  There  you  are,  young 
lady !    Mercy  on  us !    Why  are  you  crying  ? ' ' 

Lilly  quickly  dried  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks. 

*  *  I  've  just  come  from  the  hospital, ' '  was  the  only  excuse 
she  could  find.     *'I'm  still  a  little — I  beg  your  pardon." 

The  prominent  lawyer  shook  his  head.  His  bald  spot 
looked  as  petted  and  pampered  as  a  lovely  woman 's  cheeks. 

*'You  must  get  out  of  the  habit  of  crying,  too,  if  you 
want  to  make  your  way  in  the  world.  Tears  are  not  in 
place  until  you  are  *  settled.'  Oh,  yes,  something  else — the 
things  your  poor  mother  owned  must  be  sold.  The  pro- 
ceeds will  serve  as  a  small  capital.  I  lay  stress  on  having 
such  a  sum,  no  matter  how  insignificant.  Now  you  will  go 
back  to  your  home  with  my  man — the  key  was  deposited  at 
my  office — and  select  what  you  think  you  absolutely  need 
or'' — he  smiled  a  little — **what  filial  devotion  leads  you  to 
prize.  Goodby,  my  dear.  In  six  months  come  to  me 
again. ' ' 

Lilly  felt  a  cool,  soft  hand,  which  seemed  incapable  of 
bestowing  a  pressure,  lie  in  her  own  for  an  instant;  then 
she  found  herself  staggering  down  the  dark  steps  behind 
a  clerk  who  had  been  waiting  for  her  outside  the  door  with 
the  key  to  her  home. 

She  wanted  to  speak  to  him,  ask  him  questions,  beg  himi 
for  something.    But  for  what?     She  herself  knew  not. 

When  the  clerk  opened  up  the  musty  room,  where  the 
twilight  was  broken  by  shafts  of  light,  as  in  a  tomb,  the 
tomb  of  her  life,  the  tomb  of  her  youth,  Lilly  felt  that  now 
everything  was  over  and  all  left  her  was  to  fall  asleep  here 
and  die. 

The  clerk  threw  the  shutters  back  and  raised  the  win- 
dows. 

The  clothes  were  still  lying  on  the  bed,  the  underwear 
and  bed-linen  on  the  floor,  and  close  by  were  two  brown 


The  Song  of  Songs  47 

stains,  the  blood  that  had  flowed  from  her  wound.  The 
knife,  too,  was  still  there. 

Lilly  restrained  her  desire  to  cry,  shamed  by  the  presence 
of  the  clerk,  who  stood  there  stupidly,  whistling,  with  his 
lower  lip  thrust  out. 

Lilly  threw  her  clothes  into  the  basket-trunk  which  her 
mother  had  intended  to  use  in  moving  to  the  nine-room 
apartment,  added  a  few  pieces  of  underwear  and  some 
books  chosen  at  random,  and  then  looked  around  for  me- 
mentos. Her  brain  was  befogged.  She  saw  everything  and 
recognised  nothing.  But  there  on  the  table,  there,  bound 
with  rubber  bands,  soaked  in  her  blood,  untouched  because 
no  one  knew  its  value,  lay  the  Song  of  Songs. 

Lilly  snatched  it  up,  shut  down  the  trunk  lid,  and  with 
the  score  under  her  arm,  stepped  out  into  the  new  life, 
hungry  for  experience. 


Ir" 


CHAPTER  VI 

Mrs.  Asmtjssen's  two  daughters  had  run  away  from 
home  again.  The  whole  neighbourhood  knew  it.  Lilly 
had  scarcely  set  foot  in  the  dusky  room  smelling  of  dust 
and  leather,  where  soiled  volumes  on  pine  shelves  reached 
to  the  ceiling,  when  she,  too,  became  acquainted  with  the 
fact. 

Mrs.  Asmussen  was  a  dignified  dame,  whom  nature  had 
endowed  with  gracious  rotundity.  She  received  Lilly  at 
the  entrance  to  her  circulating  library,  and  amid  kisses  and 
tears  declared  that  even  before  seeing  Lilly  she  had  con- 
ceived a  love  for  her  such  as  she  would  cherish  for  a  child 
of  her  own ;  and  now  that  she  had  met  her  face  to  face  she 
was  completely  bewitched. 

**And  people  speak  of  the  cold  world,''  thought  Lilly, 
whom  this  sort  of  reception  pleased  very  well. 

'*What  did  I  say — a  child  of  my  ownf  Nonsense!  I 
love  you  more,  much  more,  ever  and  ever  and  ever  so 
much  more.  Daughters  are  venomous  serpents,  on  whom 
loveJs  wasted.  They  are  parasites  to  be  torn  from  one's 
breast — ^torn — ' ' 

She  stopped  because  the  stupid  clerk,  who  had  accom- 
panied Lilly  in  a  cab,  was  shoving  her  trunk  over  the 
threshold.     After  he  left  Mrs.  Asmussen  continued: 

"Do  you  think  I  loved  my  daughters,  or  didn't  love 
them?  Did  I,  or  did  I  not,  say  to  them  every  day :  *Your 
father's  a  blackguard,  a  cur,  and  may  the  devil  take  him'? 
How  do  you  think  they  rewarded  me?     One  morning  I 

48 


\  get  up  and  : 


The  Song  of  Songs  49 


get  up  and  find  they're  gone — mind  you,  absolutely  gone — 
beds  empty— and  a  note  on  the  table:  *We're  going  to 
father.  You  beat  us  too  much,  and  we're  sick  and  tired 
of  that  eternal  mush.*  Look  at  me,  my  dear.  Am  I  not 
goodness  itself?  Do  I  look  as  if  I  could  beat  ant/body, 
much  less  my  own  daughters  ?  And  do  you  suppose  this  is 
the  first  time  they  did  it,  the  first  time  they  overwhelmed 
me  with  shame  and  disgrace  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  ? 
What  would  you  say  if  I  were  to  tell  you  it's  the  third 
time — twice  before  I  pardoned  them  and  took  them  to  my 
bosom.  I  found  them  lying  outside  my  door  in  tears  and 
rags.  Yes,  yes,  that's  the  way  it  was,  that's  the  way  it 
is,  the  way  it  is.  But  if  they  dare  to  return  again,  here's 
a  broom,  here,  look,  behind  the  door — I  put  it  there  the 
instant  I  found  out  they  had  gone,  and  there  it  will  re- 
main until  I  take  hold  of  it  and  beat  them  out,  beat  them 
out  through  the  door  to  the  street,  this  way,  this  way,  this 
way — " 

With  a  gesture  of  ineffable  disgust  Mrs.  Asmussen  swept 
an  invisible  something  through  the  hall,  and  let  it  lie 
outside,  giving  it  a  look  of  unspeakable  contempt. 

**The  poor,  poor  woman,"  thought  Lilly.  **How  she 
must  have  suffered ! ' '  And  she  registered  a  silent  vow  to 
do  her  utmost  to  replace  the  faithless  children  in  the 
abandoned  mother's  heart. 

At  this  point  a  young  man  entered,  a  customer,  who 
wanted  to  exchange  a  book.  He  asked  for  one  of  Zola's 
works,  and  looked  at  Lilly  triumphantly,  as  if  to  say,  **You 
see,  that's  the  kind  I  am!'' 

Mrs.  Asmussen  went  to  fetch  the  book,  shaking  her  head 
softly  in  deprecation.  The  customer  took  it  hastily  with- 
out paying  the  least  attention  to  the  look  of  warning  with 
which  she  handed  it  to  him. 


50  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Look,  my  dear/'  she  said  after  he  left,  *  that's  the 
way  youth  goes  to  its  ruin,  and  I  myself  am  condemned  to 
point  the  way. ' ' 

*  *  How  ? ' '  queried  Lilly,  who  had  been  listening  with  the 
keenest  interest. 

**Do  you  know  what's  inside  an  apothecary's  shop?" 

Lilly  said  she  had  often  been  in  an  apothecary's  shop, 
but  could  not  itemise  the  contents. 

Her  mistress  continued: 

**One  closet  is  marked  *  Poisons.'  It  contains  the  most 
awful  poisons  mankind  knows.  That's  why  it's  always 
locked  and  only  the  owner  and  his  assistant  may  have  the 
key  to  it.  Now  look  about  you.  Half  of  what  you  see 
here  is  poison,  too.  Everything  written  these  days  vitiates 
the  soul  and  lures  it  to  its  destruction.  Yet  I  must  keep 
the  wicked  books,  and  though  my  heart  bleeds  I  must  hand 
them  over  to  any  and  everybody  who  asks  for  them.  Oh, 
I  need  but  to  think  of  my  undutiful  daughters.  No  use 
my  telling  them  not  to — they  read  at  any  rate.  They  read 
and  read  the  whole  night  long,  and  when  they  were 
crammed  full  of  impudence  and  corruption,  they  didn't 
like  the  food  I  prepared  for  them,  and  all  they  wanted  to 
do  was  to  go  out  walking.  On  top  of  it  all  they  went 
sneaking  off  to  their  father,  that  miserable  cur,  that  com- 
mon cheat,  that  pock-marked  scum  of  the  earth.  Child, 
I  warn  you  against  that  man.  Should  you  ever  meet  him, 
lift  your  skirts  and  spit,  the  way  I  'm  spitting  now. ' ' 

Lilly  shuddered  at  the  man's  frightful  vileness,  but  took 
some  courage  in  the  thought  that  she  had  found  her  nat- 
ural protector  in  this  excellent  woman. 

An  hour  later  they  went  to  supper,  which  consisted  of 
mush  and  sandwiches,  with  nothing  but  clarified  fat  be- 
tween. Lilly,  whose  palate  had  not  been  pampered,  was 
easily  persuaded  that  nobody  in  the  world  knew  how  to 


The  Song  of  Songs  51 

prepare  such  dainty  mush,  and  that  the  emperor  himself 
I  was  seldom  served  with  more  delicious  sandwiches.     Had 
I  a  little  ham  been  added  to  the  repast,  such  as  she  had  got- 
1  ten  for  supper  every  evening  at  the  hospital,  the  acme  of 
!  earthly  enjoyments  in  her  opinion  would  have  been  at- 
tained. 
I       Going  to  bed  provided  her  with  another  pleasure.     The 
books  of  the  circulating  library  were  kept  in  a  large  room 
with  three  windows,  divided  into  four  compartments  by 
two  bookcases  running  from  the  windowed  wall  deep  into 
the  room  and  by  a  counter  opposite  the  door  leading  into 
the  hall.     A  passageway  along  the  wall  dividing  the  li- 
brary from  the  inner  room  was  the  only  means  of  getting 
from  one  compartment  to  another. 

When  bedtime  came  Mrs.  Asmussen  had  Lilly  carry  to 
the  compartment  farthest  from  the  hall  door  two  bench- 
like pieces  of  furniture  and  mount  a  spring-mattress  on 
them.  This  completely  blocked  the  space  crosswise,  so  that, 
to  get  into  bed,  Lilly  had  to  jump  over  the  bottom  rail  of 
the  benches.     She  thought  it  great  sport. 

Wedged  in  between  perpendicular  bookcases,  the  win- 
dow-sill at  her  head,  a  chair  holding  her  impedimenta  at 
her  feet,  the  Song  of  Songs  clasped  in  her  arms,  Lilly  fell 
•asleep. 

The  next  morning  her  apprenticeship  began. 
Lilly  was  instructed  as  to  the  system  according  to  which 
the  thousands  of  volumes  were  ranged  on  the  shelves.  As 
she  knew  her  A  B  C's,  she  would  have  been  able  to  fetch 
any  book  from  its  place  at  the  end  of  five  minutes  if  only 
Mrs.  Asmussen  had  followed  her  own  scheme  and  not 
produced  utter  confusion  by  disposing  the  books  arbi- 
trarily. 

Still  harder  a  task  was  finding  records  in  the  large 
ledger.     Here,  too,  the  plan  was  supposed  to  be  alpha- 


52  The  Song  of  Songs 

betie ;  but  some  customers  filled  the  space  allotted  to  them 
more  rapidly  than  others,  and  when  there  was  no  more 
room  Mrs.  Asmussen  had  simply  turned  to  the  next  blank 
page  regardless  of  alphabetic  succession.  The  result  was 
such  a  jumble  that  finally  neither  Mrs.  Asmussen  nor  her 
decamped  daughters  knew  where  to  look  for  what  they 
wanted. 

Inspired  by  holy  zeal  Lilly  began  the  great  task  of  get- 
ting order  out  of  chaos.     This  constituted  her  entire  life. 

The  very  day  after  her  arrival  Mrs.  Asmussen  provided 
her  with  some  singular  experiences. 

During  the  working  hours  the  worthy  dame  had  for  the 
most  part  kept  out  of  sight.  When  Lilly  went  in  for 
supper  she  found  her  mistress  dreamily  inclined  over  a 
steaming  cup  of  tea  in  a  room  pervaded  by  a  pleasant 
aroma  of  lemon  and  rum. 

*^I  suffer  very  much  from  a  catarrhal  affection  of  the 
mucous  lining  of  my  nose/'  explained  Mrs.  Asmussen, 
blinking  at  Lilly  with  somewhat  watery  grey  eyes.  **So  I 
must  take  some  medicine  which  one  of  the  most  eminent 
physicians  in  the  city  prescribed  for  me. ' ' 

Lilly  stirred  her  mush  while  Mrs.  Asmussen  sipped  tea, 
every  now  and  then  giving  vent  to  a  distressed  sigh. 

**Have  I  told  you  about  my  daughters?" 

*'0h,  certainly, '^  said  Lilly,  respectfully. 

In  the  morning,  too,  Mrs.  Asmussen  had  spoken  of 
scarcely  anything  but  those  miserable  creatures  and  the 
contemptible  wretch  they  called  father. 

**I  don't  think  it's  possible  for  you  to  get  even  a  re- 
mote conception  of  the  charm  of  those  two  girls.  They  are 
my  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  modesty  should  forbid  me  to 
speak  of  them  this  way.  However,  from  a  purely  ob- 
jective point  of  view,  I  may  say  that  never,  never  in  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  53 

wide  world  have  I  ever  seen,  even  from  afar,  two  young 
ladies  endowed  with  such  striking  qualities  of  mind  and 
character.  Such  tender  filial  devotion,  such  self-sacrific- 
ing industry,  such  touching  modesty,  so  much  genuine  feel- 
ing in  all  the  small  relations  of  life,  such  quiet  strength 
in  the  judgment  of  great  questions,  have  never  before,  I 
warrant,  been  united  in  two  such  youthful  souls.  Let 
them  be  an  example  to  you,  my  child.  You  are  far  re- 
moved, far,  far  removed  from  those  models  of  maiden- 
hood." 

In  her  astonishment  and  shame  Lilly  dropped  her  spoon. 
The  old  lady  went  on : 

''It  was  with  a  bleeding  heart  that  I  had  to  part  from 
them.  As  for  them,  they  cried  day  and  night  before  leav- 
ing me.  But  what  was  to  be  done?  They  had  to  go  to 
their  father.  Have  I  ever  told  you  about  my  splendid 
husband?  An  untoward  destiny  has  separated  us,  but  his 
love,  I  know,  clings  to  me,  and  I  will  love  him  all  the  days 
of  my  life.  Oh,  what  a  man  he  was !  My  child,  pray  to 
the  Lord  that  he  may  make  you  worthy  to  become  the  wife 
of  such  a  man.     Alas,  I  was  not  worthy,  no,  not  I ! " 

Two  tears  of  infinite  contrition  ran  down  her  cheeks. 

She  related  a  good  deal  more  on  this  second  evening 
concerning  the  virtues  of  her  two  daughters,  her  husband 's 
nobility  of  character,  and  her  own  unworthiness. 

After  she  had  taken  several  more  doses  of  the  medicine 
prescribed  by  one  of  the  most  eminent  physicians  of  the 
city,  she  finally  wept  herself  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning  she  began  the  day's  work  by  bursting 
into  a  rage  because  Lilly  had  used  the  broom,  which  was 
to  remain  undisturbed  behind  the  door,  for  sweeping  the 
library. 

* '  This  broom  is  here  for  only  one  purpose— to  beat  those 


54  The  Song  of  Songs 

two  monsters  "when  they  come  to  my  door.  And  if  you, 
wretched  creature,  take  hold  of  it  once  again,  you  will  be 
the  first  to  make  its  acquaintance." 

Lilly  now  began  to  divine  that  the  strange  world  was 
not  so  roseate  as  her  eagerness  for  experience  had  led  her 
to  picture  it. 

But  worse  was  to  come. 

Mrs.  Asmussen,  who  seemed  to  be  greatly  concerned  for 
the  salvation  of  Lilly's  soul  and  the  purity  of  her  virgin 
fancy,  immediately  forbade  her  to  read  any  of  the  books 
in  the  library. 

** Experience  with  my  daughters,"  she  said,  ** taught 
me  where  such  misconduct  leads.  And  I  will  see  to  it  that 
you  are  spared  a  similar  fate." 

So  long  as  the  work  of  ordering  the  books  and  the  ledger 
continued,  the  temptation  to  disobey  this  mandate  did  not 
arise  very  frequently.  But  when  fall  came,  w^hen  despite 
increase  of  custom,  unoccupied  hours  grew  more  frequent, 
and  the  lamp  hanging  over  the  counter  shone  invitingly, 
when  Mrs.  Asmussen  from  day  to  day  succumbed  earlier 
to  the  effects  of  the  medicine  prescribed  by  one  of  the 
most  eminent  physicians  in  the  city,  and  fell  into  an  un- 
troubled dream  existence,  curiosity  and  loneliness  drove 
Lilly  irresistibly  on  to  commit  the  sinful  deed. 

The  final  impulse  was  given  by  a  girl  of  about  her  own 
age,  who  had  come  one  rainy  October  evening  to  exchange 
the  first  volume  of  a  novel  for  the  second.  But  the  second 
had  been  loaned  already,  and  the  girl  actually  cried  in 
disappointment.  She  couldn't  bear  waiting,  she  said. 
She  had  to  know  how  the  story  ended.  She  would  die  if 
she  didn't. 

Lilly  good-humouredly  advised  her  to  go  to  one  of  the 
other  circulating  libraries,  which  were  said  to  be  larger 
and  more  aristocrul^c.     She  even  returned  the  three  marks 


It 


The  Song  of  Songs  55 

deposit  for  use  at  the  other  place.    Happy  in  reawakened 
hopes  the  novel-reader  left. 

Lilly  examined  the  torn  and  soiled  volume  on  all  sides 
and  took  a  cautious  peep  between  the  covers. 

''Soil  und  Eaben,  by  Gustav  Freytag,"  was  on  the  title 
page.     She  recalled  that  even  the  girls  of  the  first  year 
high  school  had  gone  into  raptures  over  the  book.     But' 
the  seamstress's  daughter  had  had  no  time  for  reading 
novels. 

Lilly  glanced  timidly  at  the  first  page,  then  slipped  to 
the  glass  door  and  listened  for  a  while  to  Mrs.  Asmus- 
sen's  peaceful  breathing — ^now,  with  sails  spread,  she 
launched  forth  on  the  high  seas  of  romance. 

When  she  finished  the  volume  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  she  could  have  torn  her  hair  in  sheer  desperation 
at  having  so  lightly  put  the  sequel  into  the  hands  of  some 
stranger,  who  might  not  bring  it  back.  She  mapped  out 
ways  and  means  of  unearthing  his  name  and  address  and 
slipping  to  him  secretly  in  order  to  hasten  the  return  of 
the  book.     Then  she  fell  asleep. 

She  spent  hours  going  over  the  ledger  time  and  again 
to  find  the  name.  In  vain!  The  entries  were  made  by 
numbers,  not  by  titles,  and  each  time  she  skipped  the 
number  of  Soil  und  Hahen.  f 

So,  like  a  toper  who  seeks  intoxication  in  a  new  drink, 
she  greedily  devoured  another  book. 

From  now  on  Lilly's  life  was  one  great  orgy,  and  bore 
all  the  marks  of  such  an  existence — blurred  eyes,  aching 
limbs,  huge  bills  for  midnight  oil,  and  spying  and  lying 
every  few  minutes  to  allay  Mrs.  Asmussen's  suspicions. 

On$  winter  morning  the  dreadful  crime  came  to  light. 

The  fire  in  the  library  stove  would  die  out  about  mid- 
night and  Lilly's  feet  would  then  grow  cold.  So  she  got 
into  the  habit  of  reading  in  bed,  with  the  lamp,  which  she 


56  The  Song  of  Songs 

removed  from  its  hanging  socket,  set  on  the  broad  win- 
dow-sill directly  back  of  her  head.  She  indulged  in  the 
luxury  even  though  reduced  to  the  bitter  necessity  of  get- 
ting out  of  bed  later  to  replace  both  the  lamp  and  the 
book,  for  nowadays  Mrs.  Asmussen  was  frequently  at  her 
post  earlier  in  the  morning  than  Lilly.  But  Lilly,  for  the 
sake  of  the  few  extra  hours  thus  gained,  would  not  have 
been  deterred  from  allowing  herself  this  great  joy,  even 
if  it  had  involved  going  out  on  the  icy  street  in  her  night- 
gown. 

But  once  she  started  up  from  sleep  in  terror  to  find  Mrs. 
Asmussen  standing  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed  all  dressed. 
A  black  strap  lay  across  her  white  shirt,  and  the  lamp, 
which  she  had  gotten  up  at  one  o'clock  to  refill,  was  still 
burning  behind  her. 

Never  having  been  beaten  in  her  life,  she  refused  at 
first  to  take  it  seriously  when  Mrs.  Asmussen,  despite  her. 
corpulence,  suddenly  jumped  over  the  bottom  of  the  bed 
and  squatted  on  the  covers  like  a  great  turkey  and  began 
to  strike  her  over  the  ears  with  the  black  strap. 

Bad  times  set  in. 

Of  what  avail  that  Lilly  felt  genuinely  repentant  and 
swore  to  herself  to  reform.  She  was  so  steeped  in  the 
new  passion,  so  absorbed  by  that  lovelier  existence,  where 
people  experienced  and  loved,  suffered  and  enjoyed,  where 
there  were  no  pert  servant  girls  who  came  to  exchange 
books,  no  wet  umbrellas,  no  second  volumes  loaned  out,  no 
ledger  numbers  not  to  be  found,  no  mush,  and  no  blows, 
that  she  could  not  have  returned  to  her  former  self  had 
she  had  the  self -renunciatory  ability  of  a  martyr  and  saint. 

To  such  an  extent  was  she  dominated  by  her  fancy  that 
what  was  her  actual  existence,  moving  on  from  day  to  day 
in  monotonous  prison-like  loneliness,  seemed  to  her  a 
dream,  an  oppressive  death  stupour,  painless,  but  also  pleas- 


The  Song  of  Songs  57 

ureless.  Her  being  did  not  expand  in  real  life  until  the 
sticky  pages  of  a  novel  began  to  rustle  in  her  hand. 

Intimidated  and  unresisting  as  she  was,  she  did  not 
find  the  courage  to  justify  what  was  holiest  to  her  even  in 
her  own  eyes.  She  felt  it  to  be  a  sin  on  which  her  hungry 
soul  fed  as  on  manna. 

Mrs.  Asmussen  had  bethought  herself  of  a  diabolic  way 
of  still  further  humiliating  Lilly.  Like  many  a  believing 
Protestant,  she  regarded  religion  solely  as  a  scourge.  Hith- 
erto she  had  not  shown  the  least  solicitude  concerning 
Lilly's  piety,  but  now  she  began  each  meal  with  a  long 
prayer  of  repentance,  and  while  the  steam  curled  invit- 
ingly from  the  soup  tureen,  she  would  beseech  God  with 
sighs  and  tears  to  raise  Lilly  from  the  depths  to  which  she 
had  sunk. 

And  woe  to  Lilly  if  caught  backsliding ! 

That  first  chastisement  was  not  the  last.  Every  pretext 
was  seized  for  beating  and  cuffing  her.  Storms  of  abuse 
showered  down  on  her  unprotected  head.  She  did  not 
dare  breathe  until  the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  emi- 
nent physician  began  to  have  its  soothing  effect. 

Then  she  would  pounce  on  the  first  book  she  came  across, 
and  amid  the  forging  of  signatures  and  broken  marriage 
vows,  amid  death  by  poisoning  and  the  mad  acts  of  love, 
she  would  suffer  and  triumph,  triumph  and  die,  blissful  in 
her  sufferings,  intoxicated  to  the  very  end. 


CHAPTEE  VII 

It  was  on  a  March  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing with  young  impertinence  and  the  heat  was  untimely. 

The  black  slabs  of  snow  at  the  edge  of  the  pavement 
had  melted  into  gleaming  puddles,  and  a  sparkling  shower 
fell  from  the  icicles  clinging  to  the  roofs.  Over  to  the  south- 
west the*  red  evening  glow  lay  spread  on  the  house  fronts 
like  gay  rugs  separated  by  an  oblique  line  from  the  shadow 
of  the  walls  on  the  near  side.  The  window-panes  glowed 
as  if  they  were  suns  radiating  their  own  light,  and  the 
sparrows  chased  one  another  along  the  dripping  eaves. 

But  best  of  all  in  this  sorry  spring  of  city  streets  was 
the  rare  spicy  smell  of  thawing.  Even  the  vapours  rising 
from  the  gutters,  now  running  again,  gave  an  inkling  of 
greening  meadows  and  bursting  boughs. 

Lilly,  who  had  gone  out  on  hardly  more  than  three  oc- 
casions the  whole  winter,  sat  behind  the  counter  and  looked 
through  the  window  longingly. 

Everywhere  she  saw  that  windows  and  doors  had  been 
opened  wide,  everywhere  breasts  hungering  for  air  greed- 
ily drew  in  the  breath  of  coming  spring.  So  she,  too, 
opened  the  casement  wide  and  gave  the  door  to  the  hall  a 
push,  which  sent  it  flying  back  and  knocked  down  the 
broom,  standing  at  its  post,  as  always. 

Through  the  open  doorway  she  could  see  into  the  parlour 
of  the  tenant  who  lived  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  and 
who,  likewise,  had  flung  back  his  door  for  spring  to  enter. 

She  saw  a  cherry-red  sofa  with  embroidered  antimacas- 
sars symmetrically  plastered  on  its  old-fashioned  scroll 

58 


The  Song  of  Songs         ,  59 

arms.  She  saw  framed  wreaths  of  dried  flowers  with  in- 
scriptions hanging  on  the  walls;  she  saw  an  artillery  offi- 
cer's helmet  and  two  swords  with  sword-knots  crossed  be- 
neath. She  saw  China  lions  serving  as  cigar  holders,  la- 
dies in  dancing  attitudes  holding  tallow  candles,  photo- 
graphs of  family  groups  with  peacock  feathers  stuck  be- 
hind, a  spherical  aquarium  containing  gold  fish,  and  a  spot- 
ted goat  skin.  Amid  all  these  comfortable-looking  knick- 
knacks  she  saw  a  young  man  walking  up  and  down  with 
a  book  in  his  hand  murmuring  studiously.  He  would  ap- 
pear and  reappear  in  the  field  of  vision  allowed  by  the  hall 
door. 

This  young  man  awakened  Lilly's  sympathy  at  the  very 
first  glance. 

He  wore  his  waving  light  hair  brushed  from  his  fore- 
head in  free  and  easy  fashion,  and  carried  his  head  boldly 
erect.  His  brown  and  lilac  necktie  seemed  to  her  aristo- 
cratic perfection. 

She  passed  in  review  all  her  favourite  heroes  to  see  which 
of  them  he  most  resembled.  After  some  wavering  she  finally 
decided  he  came  nearest  to  Herr  von  Fink,  the  rogue  in 
Soil  und  Haben, 

Since  the  young  man  did  not  notice  her,  she  could  study 
him  at  leisure.  Each  time  he  appeared  she  felt  a  warm 
wave  pour  over  her  body,  and  when  he  remained  away  too 
long  by  the  fraction  of  a  second,  she  experienced  a  sensa- 
tion of  nausea,  as  if  some  one  were  trying  to  cheat  her  of 
a  dear  possession. 

This  continued  until  once  he  looked  up  from  his  book, 
became  aware  of  the  open  door  to  the  circulating  library 
with  the  young  lady  on  the  other  side  observing  him, 
started  in  dismay,  and  quickly  stepped  back  to  the  invisible 
part  of  the  room. 

The  next  time  he  came  7nto  view  he  had  assumed  a  con- 


60  The  Song  of  Songs 

scious  and  studied  manner.  He  looked  at  his  book  a  little 
too  closely  and  moved  his  lips  one  degree  too  zealously, 
while  a  sever©  frown  clouded  his  countenance. 

Lilly,  too,  had  found  it  necessary  somewhat  to  improve 
the  picture  she  presented.  She  smoothed  her  hair,  which 
she  wore  parted  Madonna  fashion,  and  let  her  arm  droop 
over  the  side  of  the  chair  in  idle  dreaminess. 

Some  maids,  who  had  come  to  exchange  books  for  their 
mistresses,  put  an  end  to  this  dual  posing.  On  leaving 
they  closed  the  door  and  Lilly  did  not  venture  to  open  it 
again. 

But  that  night  she  carried  the  vision  of  the  new  hero 
into  her  dreams. 

It  was  too  late  in  the  day  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Asmussen, 
who  was  now  in  the  habit  of  preparing  her  medicine  some 
.time  before  the  evening  meal.  The  next  morning,  how- 
ever, she  seemed  to  be  in  a  gracious  humour,  and  Lilly  felt 
emboldened  to  make  a  few  inquiries  concerning  the  neigh- 
bours, of  whom  she  knew  practically  nothing. 

*'What  are  the  neighbours  to  you,  Miss  Inquisitive?" 

Such  was  the  tone  of  intercourse  that  had.  developed 
from  the  first  state  of  enchantment. 

Lilly  took  heart,  and  concocted  a  story  of  a  steady  cus- 
tomer who  had  asked  about  the  neighbours  the  day  before, 
and  Lilly  had  not  been  able  to  give  any  information. 

Mrs.  Asmussen,  who  cherished  boundless  respect  for  the 
customers^  wishes,  forthwith  became  communicative. 

They  were  two  very  good  people,  but  of  low  station,  with 
whom  she,  Mrs,  Asmussen,  a  woman  of  greater  aristocracy 
both  of  mind  and  heart,  could  not,  of  course,  associate. 
The  man,  a  sergeant  out  of  service,  was  clerk  in  some  of- 
fice, and  the  woman  sewed  neckwear  for  a  living. 

Lilly  blushed.     She  recalled  the  brown  and  lilac  tie,  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  61 

sheen  of  which  had  been  dazzling  her  eyes  since  the  day 
before. 

An  idea  might  be  obtained  of  the  vulgar  existence  those 
plebeians  led,  Mrs.  Asmussen  continued,  if  one  knew  they 
considered  potato  soup  with  sliced  sausage  in  it  a  festal 
delicacy,  whereas  anyone  with  refined  tastes  would  shud- 
der at  the  mere  thought. 

Lilly,  who,  like  the  good-for-nothing  daughters,  had  long 
lost  her  joy  in  the  daily  mush,  could  not  quite  sympathise 
with  this  statement.  On  the  contrary,  she  felt  her  mouth 
watering,  and  in  order  to  change  the  subject  quickly  she 
timidly  inquired  whether  anyone  else  was  living  next 
door. 

**Not  that  I  know  of,"  replied  Mrs.  Asmussen.  **But 
there's  a  son.  He  goes  to  high  school.  I  don't  know  why 
such  people  have  their  sons  study." 

**I  know,"  thought  Lilly.  ** Because  he's  one  of  the 
elect,  because  genius  shines  in  his  eyes,  because  destiny  has 
marked  him  to  be  a  ruler  on  earth." 

That  afternoon  she  kept  the  door  open.  But  it  had 
turned  bitter  cold,  and  the  idea  of  friendly  reciprocation 
occurred  to  nobody  next  door. 

After  an  hour  spent  in  studying  the  oval  door  plate  on 
which  was  inscribed : 

L.  Redlich 
Please  ring  hard, 

she  found  herself  under  the  necessity  of  closing  the  door,  be- 
cause her  legs  were  depending  from  her  body  like  icicles  and 
she  had  the  humiliating  consciousness  of  being  scorned. 
Henceforth  she  kept  on  the  watch  for  one  o'clock,  when 
the  students  living  in  the  house  returned  from  school. 
^Holding  her  forehead  pressed  against  the  window-pane,  she 


62  THe  Song  of  Songs 

could  recognise  at  an  inconceivable  distance  the  blue  and 
white  rimmed  caps  worn  by  high  school  students. 

When  he  came  up  the  steps  leading  to  the  porch  in 
front  of  the  house,  she  slipped  behind  the  curtain,  and  in 
a  joyous  tremour  caught  the  shamed,  sidelong  glance  he 
sent  her.  If  he  looked  straight  ahead  she  was  unhappy 
and  afraid  she  had  hart  his  feelings. 

Other  blue  and  white  rimmed  caps  besides  his  entered 
the  house.  They  belonged  to  friends  who  came  to  cram 
with  him. 

Lilly  loved  them  all.  She  felt  she  was  a  secret  member 
of  the  union  of  these  young  souls  who  were  going  to  storm 
the  world,  and  when  they  seated  themselves  in  the  room  she 
took  her  invisible  place  in  the  circle. 

Some  of  them  Lilly  recognised,  not  by  their  features, 
because  they  passed  her  too  quickly  for  that,  but  by  their 
caps,  which  she  distinguished  accurately.  There  was  the 
*'sad  one,"  the  ** washed-out  one,"  the  "stylish  one"  and 
the  "wireless  one."  She  could  also  recognise  their  walk 
and  the  manner  in  which  they  rang  the  bell  at  the  oppo- 
site door.  Even  if  occupied  with  customers,  she  could 
tell,  without  having  looked  through  the  window,  exactly 
how  many  and  which  of  the  friends  were  working  with 
young  Redlich,  and  she  would  revolve  in  her  mind  why 
this  or  that  one  had  not  come  that  day. 

Spring  advanced.  The  inmates  of  the  house  began  oc- 
casionally to  sit  on  the  front  porch,  where  there  were 
benches  on  either  side  of  the  door. 

Before  leaving,  the  young  gentlemen  would  remain  there 
a  while  chatting,  and  now  and  then  He  would  lean  over 
the  railing  in  the  twilight,  dreaming,  no  doubt,  of  future 
conquests. 

"With  fluttering  heart  Lilly  would  stand  behind  a  book- 
case  where  she  had  cunningly  contrived  an  observatory^ 


The  Song  of  Songs  63 

for  herself  by  removing  a  number  of  books,  and  from  there 
read  the  world-stirring  thoughts  that  lay  on  the  bold  soar- 
ing forehead.  -         , 

The  benches  on  the  right  side  of  the  porch,  in  front  of 
the  windows  of  the  circulating  library,  generally  remained 
unoccupied,  because  Mrs.  Asmussen,  to  whom  this  side  be- 
longed, preferred  not  to  desert  her  evening  medicine,  and 
Lilly  lacked  courage  to  ask  for  permission  to  sit  there  by 
herself. 

But  one  evening  in  May,  when  dark  blue  clouds  hung 
in  the  heavens  shot  with  red,  enticing  rather  than  threat- 
ening, when  the  streets  were  so  quiet  that  Lilly  could  hear 
the  distant  plashing  of  the  fountain  in  the  market-place, 
when  the  only  stir  was  created  by  swallows  darting  hither 
and  thither,  she  could  no  longer  stand  the  library's  pasty, 
leathery  smell,  and  fetching  her  embroidery — ^more  for 
show  than  from  eagerness  to  sew — she  went  out  to  sit  on 
the  porch. 

She  knew  he  had  gone  out  and  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
remaining  away  after  ten  o  ^clock. 

So  he  would  be  bound  to  pass  her  at  all  events. 

Half  an  hour  went  by,  another  half  hour,  then  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour.  Finally  she  saw  a  blue  and  white  cap 
come  swinging  down  the  street  in  the  last  glow  of  evening. 

Her  first  thought  was  to  run  into  the  library  with  all 
j  possible  speed.  But  she  was  ashamed  of  the  idea,  and  re- 
mained seated. 

He  came,  he  saw  her,  he  raised  his  cap  and  went  in. 

She  thought  gleefully: 

"Well,  he  bowed  at  lasf 

At  the  end  of  scarcely  ten  minutes  he  reappeared  on 
the  scene,  seated  himself  on  the  bench  belonging  to  his 
side  of  the  house,  toyed  with  pebbles,  whistled  softly,  and 
acted  altogether  as  if  he  did  not  see  her. 


64  The  Song  of  Songp  • 

Lilly  sat  in  her  corner  with  her  face  turned  aside,  roll- 
ing and  unrolling  her  embroidery,  and  every  now  and  then 
fetching  a  little  sigh,  not  to  show  her  love — oh,  certainly 
not ! — but  because  her  breath  came  short. 

About  half  an  hour  passed  in  this  fashion  and  Lilly  was 
beginning  to  lose  all  hope  of  a  rapprochement,  when  all 
of  a  sudden  he  said,  half  raising  his  cap : 

**The  front  door,  I  believe,  is  soon  going  to  be  closed, 
Miss." 

** Impossible!"  she  cried,  feigning  lively  astonishment. 
But  if  she  were  to  act  on  the  suggestion  implied  in  his 
words  her  chance  of  at  last  becoming  acquainted  with  him 
would  certainly  be  lost,  and  she  added  in  a  tone  lighter 
than  accorded  with  her  mood:  **But  it  doesn't  matter. 
The  window  is  open." 

He  uttered, 

**H'm,  h'm." 

Whether  in  agreement  or  blame  she  could  not  determine, 
and  the  conversation  would  have  come  to  a  standstill  with- 
out fail  had  not  Lilly  made  an  effort  to  keep  the  ball  roll- 
ing. 

"We  are  neighbours,  aren^t  we?"  she  asked. 

He  jumped  from  his  seat  and  with  a  sweep  of  his  cap 
describing  a  semicircle  between  his  head  and  his  trousers' 
pocket,  he  said: 

**  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  Fritz  Redlich,  senior 
in  the  high  school." 

Lilly  once  more  experienced  the  reverential  thrill  that 
used  to  pass  through  her  soul  when  she  was  in  the  Selecta 
and  the  last  year  class  of  the  boys*  high  school  was  men- 
tioned. The  fact  was  suddenly  borne  in  upon  her  that 
now  she  was  nothing  better  than  a  shop  girl,  and  she  grew 
hot  with  shame  at  the  thought 


The  Song  of  Songs  65 

But  she  would  not  have  it  that  her  glorious  past  was  to 
'^ave  been  lived  in  vain. 

''I  was  in  the  Selecta.  I  left  last  autumn,"  she  said, 
'*and  I  got  to  know  some  of  you  then." 

^'Whom?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

Lilly  mentioned  the  names  of  two  young  men  who  had 
Buttered  about  her  at  the  skating-rink,  and  asked  whether 
he  knew  them. 

''Certainly  not,"  he  answered  with  scorn,  which  did  not 
seem  wholly  sincere.  **They  loaf  too  much  for  fellows 
like  us,  and  they're  going  to  join  a  students'  corps.  We 
don't  do  that  sort  of  thing." 

Silence  ensued. 

It  had  now  grown  so  dark  that  Lilly  could  see  only  the 
outline  of  his  figure  as  he  idly  leaned  against  the  corner 
post  of  the  balustrade. 

Fine  drops  of  rain  fell  and  lay  in  her  hair.  She  could 
have  remained  there  forever  with  the  dark  youthful  form 
before  her  searching  eyes  and  spring's  blessing  lying  cool 
on  her  head. 

*'You  are  engaged  here  in  the  circulating  library?"  he 
asked. 

Lilly  said  **Yes,"  and  was  grateful  to  him  for  the  ele- 
gant word  '* engaged,"  which  seemed  somewhat  to  im- 
prove her  position. 

"And  you  are  preparing  for  the  examinations?"  she 
inquired  in  turn. 

**In  autumn — if  everything  goes  well,"  he  answered 
with  a  sigh. 

"Then  you  are  going  out  into  the  wide,  wide  world," 
she  said  with  the  rapt  expression  that  girls  adopt  in  com* 
positions.  "Going  out  to  fight  your  way  through  life^ 
Oh,  how  I  envy  youl" 


66  The  Song  of  Songs 

*'Why?'*  he  asked  in  wonder.  **Aren*t  you  fighting 
your  way  through  life  already  ? ' ' 

Lilly  burst  out  laughing. 

**0h,  if  I  were  you/'  she  cried,  **what  wouldn't  I  do — 
oh!" 

She  exulted  in  her  sensations.  She  felt  her  limbs 
stretching.  She  knew  a  gleam  of  triumph  was  flashing  in 
her  eyes,  a  gleam  which  could  not  triumph  simply  because 
it  dissipated  itself  unseen  in  the  dark. 

It  was  impossible  for  her,  from  sheer  joy,  to  remain 
where  she  was.  She  would  have  gone  mad  had  she  been 
compelled  to  stay  there,  formulating  stiff  words,  while 
everything  in  her  cried  out : 

**I  love  you." 

She  bade  him  a  hasty  good-night  and  ran  into  the  li- 
brary, bolting  the  door  behind  her.  She  ran  up  and  down 
the  narrow  aisles  between  the  cases,  laughing  and  sighing, 
raising  her  arms  aloft  like  a  priestess  at  prayer,  and  knock- 
ing her  elbows  painfully  against  the  shelves. 

A  yearning  for  symphonies,  for  great  sustained  major 
chords,  welled  up  within  her.  She  wanted  to  sing  the 
Walhalla  motif,  but  the  Walhalla  motif  cannot  be  sung. 

Suddenly  an  aria  flitted  through  her  mind,  one  of  those 
songs  which  had  palpitated  through  her  childhood,  with- 
out conveying  any  meaning  to  her,  but  which,  for  that 
very  reason,  had  been  the  more  purely  consecrated. 

I  sought  him  whom  my  soul  loved, 

I  sought  him,  but  1  found  him  not. 

I  called  him. 

But  he  gave  me  no  answer. 

The  watchman  that  went  about  the  city  found  me. 

They  smote  me,  they  wounded  me. 

The  keepers  of  the  walls  took  away  my  veil  from  me. 

She  sang  in  a  soft,  uncertain  voice,  loud  enough,  kow« 


The  Song  of  Songs  67 

ever,  to  be  heard  through  the  window.  But  when  she 
peeped  from  her  observatory  to  convince  herself  that  he 
was  listening,  she  no  longer  saw  him  standing  there. 

She  sang  louder  and  leaned  out.  She  tore  open  her 
tight-fitting  dress  to  expose  her  bare  breast  to  the  rain 
drops. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden  she  was  overcome  by  a  feeling  of 
wretchedness;  why,  she  did  not  know,  but  so  strong  it 
was  she  thought  she  would  die  of  it.  She  felt  how  the  cruel 
watchers  seized  her ;  she  felt  the  smart  of  the  wound  which 
rude  hands  caused  her;  she  felt  how  the  veil  was  being 
torn  away  which  concealed  from  the  eyes  of  the  world  the 
holy  nakedness  of  her  body.  In  shameless  nudity,  yef 
weeping  drops  of  blood  for  bitter  shame,  she  tottered 
through  the  streets,  and  sought  and  sought,  yet  he  was 
farther  off  than  ever. 

She  sank  on  her  knees  at  the  window-sill,  and  pressing 
her  face  on  its  edge,  wept  bitterly  in  sweet  dark  sympathy 
with  that  image  of  herself  straying  through  Jerusalem's 
nocturnal  streets. 

Yet  all  this  was  sheer  happiness ! 


CHAPTER  YIII 

And  the  happiness  endured. 

It  nestled  in  the  dusty  corners,  it  perched  on  the  book- 
shelves, it  span  golden  cobwebs  from  beam  to  beam,  it 
rode  on  every  ray  of  light  reflected  from  the  windows  op- 
posite on  the  leather  backs  of  the  books. 

Wherever  she  went,  Lilly  was  accompanied  by  a  hum- 
ming medley  of  quivering  tones,  half  motifs  and  snatches 
of  melodies,  strains  from  an  aeolian  harp,  the  chirping  of 
a  cricket-on-the-hearth,  the  singing  of  a  boiling  kettle,  and 
the  soft  twittering  of  birds. 

Awake  or  asleep,  she  always  heard  it. 

Now  and  then  a  few  measures  of  the  Song  of  Songs 
joined  in  exultingly. 

Outwardly  everything  went  along  in  the  old  ruts.  jMTrs. 
Asmussen  was  sometimes  sober,  sometimes  full  of  sweet 
drugs.  Husband  and  daughters  rose  and  sank,  sank  and 
rose,  through  the  entire  gamut  of  ethical  appraisement, 
plunged  one  moment  into  the  deepest  pit  of  depravity,  ex- 
alted the  next  to  the  shining  heights  of  apotheosis.  One 
day  a  volume  of  Gerstacker  was  missing,  another  day  a 
Balduin  Mollhausen  seemed  to  have  been  sucked  into  the 
swamps  of  the  Orinoco. 

Sometimes  a  puff  of  wind  blowing  through  the  window 
carried  a  little  cloud  of  yellow  powder  to  the  edges  of  the 
shelves,  from  which  it  was  wiped  off  like  ordinary  dust. 
Yet  it  conveyed  a  greeting  from  swaying  boughs  in  bloom, 
which  was  all  this  spring  brought  to  Lilly,  except  for  a  few 

68 


The  Song  of  Songs  69 

loads  of  lilacs  carted  past  the  library  on  their  way  to 
market. 

The  young  hero  from  the  other  side  of  the  house  had 
not  approached  her  again. 

She  trembled  whenever  she  heard  him  go  down  the  steps, 
and  twice  a  day  with  beating  heart  she  received  his  shy 
greeting — that  was  all. 

And  he  was  not  to  be  seen  on  the  porch  again.  The 
digging  and  cramming  with  the  other  young  men  lasted 
until  late  at  night,  and  it  was  often  two  o  'clock  before  she 
heard  their  departing  tread. 

Not  until  then  would  she  throw  herself  in  bed,  where 
she  lay  staring  into  the  dusk  of  the  summer  night,  her 
spirit  roving  over  the  world  to  find  the  throne  worthy  to 
serve  as  her  hero's  goal.  She  saw  him  a  general  winning 
epoch-making  battles  in  the  open  country,  she  saw  him  a" 
poet  walking  up  the  steps  of  the  capitol  to  receive  the 
laurel  wreath,  she  saw  him  an  inventor  soaring  through 
the  ether  in  the  airship  he  himself  had  perfected,  she  saw 
him  the  founder  of  a  new  religion — but  here  she  came  to 
a  terrified  halt,  for  in  her  heart  she  had  remained  a  good 
Catholic. 

Under  the  oppression  of  bodily  and  spiritual  castigation 
she  had  not  dared  seek  refuge  in  religion.  Quickly 
enough  the  courage  had  gone  from  her  to  ask  Mrs.  Asmus- 
i:!en  for  permission  to  visit  St.  Anne 's  early  every  morning, 
and  soon  she  had  completely  forgotten  that  such  a  thing 
as  a  confession  or  a  mass  ever  took  place. 

Now,  however,  in  the  exuberance  of  her  feelings,  feel- 
ings such  as  she  had  never  before  suspected,  her  longing 
for  spiritual  disburdenment  grew  so  strong  that  she  de- 
cided to  acknowledge  her  Catholicism  to  Mrs.  Asmussen 
and  beg  for  the  privilege  to  pray  in  that  quiet  corner  where 


70  The  Song  of  Songs 

St.  Joseph,  who  had  always  been  good  to  her,  stood  behind 
six  gold-encircled  candles  and  smilingly  shook  his  finger. 

In  Lilly's  avowal  Mrs.  Asmussen  found  an  explanation 
of  all  her  vices ;  her  sneakiness,  her  hypocrisy,  her  laziness, 
her  lack  of  a  sense  of  order.  Mrs.  Asmussen,  therefore, 
concluded  her  daily  prayer  with  the  wish  for  immediate 
and  complete  conversion. 

Nevertheless  she  did  not  refuse  Lilly  two  excursions  a 
week  to  early  mass,  which  was  all  Lilly  had  dared  hope 
for. 

The  meeting  between  Lilly  and  St.  Joseph  was  touching. 

Really,  going  back  to  him  was  like  going  back  home. 
The  cherubs  that  fluttered  in  the  gay  glass  case  behind  him 
greeted  her  with  a  knowing,  confidential  look,  like  brothers 
and  sisters  who  have  been  let  into  the  secret  that  the  pun- 
ishment after  all  is  not  going  to  be  so  very  severe.  The 
golden-yellow  carpet  extended  a  hospitable  invitation  to 
kneel,  and  the  flowers  on  the  Holy  Virgin's  altar  close  by 
perfumed  the  air. 

The  saint  at  first  seemed  a  little  hurt  because  she  had 
not  visited  him  for  so  long.  But  after  she  had  made  her 
moan — telling  of  her  loneliness,  the  daily  mush  and  the 
blows — he  softened  and  forgave  her. 

Since  her  last  visit  he  had  received  three  new  silver 
hearts,  which  shot  out  rays  of  light  the  length  of  a  finger. 
She  felt  like  dedicating  one  to  him,  too,  but  on  what 
grounds  she  did  not  know,  since  the  miracle  to  be  worked 
in  her  was  yet  to  be  accomplished. 

*' Perhaps  it's  only  jealousy  in  me,  or  a  desire  to  show 
off,"  she  thought,  for  it  was  painful  to  her  that  others 
should  stand  in  closer  relations  to  her  saint  than  she. 
** After  all,"  she  comforted  herself,  **how  can  I  expect 
anything  else  when  I  neglected  him  so  long  ? ' ' 

After  confessing  everything — except,  of  course,  her  love 


The  Song  of  Songs  71 

story — ^he  had  become  too  much  of  a  stranger  for  that — 
she  hastened  away.  The  clocks  were  striking  quarter  of 
seven,  and  if  she  did  not  meet  her  hero  on  his  way  to 
school,  her  morning  meditations  would  have  had  neither 
purpose  nor  significance. 

She  met  him  and  his  companions  at  the  corner  of  Was- 
sertor  street. 

He  raised  his  cap  and  passed  by.  But  she,  fetching  a 
deep  breath,  remained  for  a  time  on  the  same  spot,  like  one 
who  has  just  escaped  a  great  danger. 

Ftrom  now  on  there  were  two  such  encounters  a  week. 

Her  secret  wish  that  some  morning,  when  he  was  alone, 
he  would  stop  and  enter  into  a  neighbourly  conversation, 
was  never  fulfilled.  Not  the  faintest  glimmer  of  joy  ap- 
peared in  his  face  at  her  approach,  and  the  tense  concern 
depicted  on  his  features  did  not  relax  even  when — blushing 
a  bit — he  raised  his  cap  to  her. 
•        •        • 

Lilly  had  long  given  up  all  hope  of  his  ever  addressing 
her  again,  when  one  rainy  July  Sunday  in  the  evening, 
when  the  door  of  the  circulating  library  was  closed  to  cus- 
tomers, she  heard  a  faint  tinkling  of  the  bell.  She  opened 
the  door — there  he  stood. 

** Mercy!''  she  cried,  almost  shutting  the  door  in  her 
confusion. 

Did  she  happen  to  have  Riickert's  poems  in  her  library? 

Idlly  knew  for  certain  she  did  not  have  them,  but  if  she 
admitted  forthwith  her  inability  to  furnish  the  book  he 
would  find  no  pretext  for  entering  into  a  conversation,  so 
she  said  she  would  go  see,  and  wouldn't  he  step  in  and 
wait?  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  seated  himself  on  the 
customers'  chair  placed  close  to  the  door. 

Lilly  spent  some  time  searching,  because  she  was 
afraid  the  inevitable  **no"  would  send  him  off  with  a  curt 


72  The  Song  of  Songs 

** thank  you,"  and  she  ran  up  and  down  the  aisles  between 
the  shelves  aimlessly,  reiterating: 

*  *  I  'm  sure  I  saw  the  poems  just  a  little  while  ago. ' ' 

Then,  in  order  to  think  the  matter  over  more  quietly, 
she  seated  herself  opposite  him  with  the  counter  between. 
But  he  encouraged  her  to  renew  the  search. 

*'If  you  saw  them  only  a  short  time  ago,  then  they  are 
bound  to  be  here." 

When  finally  convinced  that  Riickert's  poems  w^ere  not 
in  the  library,  he  fetched  a  deep  sigh  and  murmured  some- 
thing like,  * '  What  shall  I  do  ? "  and  disappeared. 

Lilly,  completely  dazed,  stared  at  the  doorway,  which  a 
moment  before  had  framed  his  figure. 

She  wanted  to  cry  out  and  plead,  **Stay  here!  Come 
back!"  But  she  heard  the  door  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hall  fall  shut,  and  everything  was  over. 

She  crouched  at  the  window-sill  indulging  in  specula- 
tions of  what  might  have  taken  place  if  he  had  happened 
to  remain. 

Her  heart  throbbed  violently. 

About  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  bell  rang  again. 

She  jumped  up.     Supposing  it  was  he? 

It  was  he. 

He  begged  pardon;  he  had  forgotten  his  umbrella. 

''This  time  you  don't  slip  away!"  something  within  her 
cried. 

He  caught  up  his  soaking  umbrella,  which  she  had  failed 
to  notice  despite  the  shining  puddle  which  was  crawling 
along  the  crack  between  two  floor  boards,  and  was  about  to 
escape  again,  when  Lilly  essayed: 

**For  what  do  you  need  Riickert's  poems?" 

He  began  to  complain: 

**Life  is  made  so  hard  for  us,  you  have  no  idea  how 
hard." 


The  Song  of  Songs  73 

He  went  on  to  tell  about  the  speeches  they  had  to  de- 
liver offhand  on  a  subject  sprung  on  them  without  warn- 
ing, regardless  of  whether  or  not  the  students  had  pre- 
pared the  theme.  But  this  time  they  had  gotten  wind  of 
the  surprise  in  store — the  next  day  in  literature  class  they 
would  be  required  to  give  a  comprehensive  view  of  Riick- 
ert.  That  was  why  he  would  have  to  glance  over  the 
poems  once  again  to  find  out  exactly  who  had  been  buried 
in  the  three  graves  at  Ottensen. 

Lilly  thrilled  with  joy. 

She  could  help  him — she,  the  low-flying  sparrow,  could 
help  him,  the  soaring  heaven-dweller. 

She  timorously  related  the  story  of  the  poor,  defeated 
count  of  Brunswick  and  Klopstock,  the  pious  bard  of  *  *  The 
Messiah.'*  The  only  thing  she  had  forgotten  was  who  the 
twelve  hundred  exiles  were  who  lay  in  the  first  of  the 
graves. 

He  seemed  unwilling  to  believe  in  this  unexpected  good 
fortune.  Was  she  sure  of  what  she  said?  That  about 
Klopstock  was  correct;  he  knew  it  from  the  tables  of  his 
history  of  literature.  But  the  rest  of  it?  Oppressed  by 
grave  doubts  he  shook  his  triumphant  mane. 

Lilly  eagerly  allayed  his  fears.  To  be  sure,  it  was  more 
than  a  year  since  she  had  heard  of  those  lovely  things,  but 
she  had  a  good  memory,  and  would  certainly  not  misin- 
form him  lightly. 

At  last  he  seemed  relieved.  He  drew  a  deep  breath, 
and  observed,  with  his  mind  bent  more  upon  general  mat- 
ters: 

**Yes,  it's  very  hard,  very,  very  hard.*' 

Once  embarked  on  the  current  of  open  talk,  he  went  on 
to  offer  his  views  concerning  the  other  difficulties  of  hu- 
man life.  ,  Mathematics  was  all  right ;  in  fact,  he  had  done 
very  well  in  analytic  geometry.    But  history  and  the  Ian- 


74  The  Song  of  Songs 

guages,  and  above  all,  German  composition !  A  fellow  was 
sometimes  driven  to  despair  by  the  wretched  state  of  things 
in  this  world. 

In  this  Lilly  fully  concurred.  She,  too,  had  little  cause 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  course  of  mundane  events,  and  she 
gave  eloquent  and  passionate  expression  to  her  senti- 
ments. 

'*As  for  you,*'  she  concluded,  **what  tortures  your  spirit 
must  undergo  when  it  feels  itself  hampered  in  its  flight  by 
the  humiliating  demands  of  the  schoolroom!'' 

He  looked  at  her  in  some  wonderment  and  remarked : 

**Yes,  indeed,  it's  hard,  very  hard." 

*^I  in  your  place,"  Lilly  went  on,  '* would  not  care  a  fig 
inside  myself  for  all  that  vapid  stuff.  I  would  just  do 
what  is  necessary  in  an  offhand  way,  and  then  in  com- 
plete spiritual  freedom  climb  to  the  height  where  the  great 
poets  and  philosophers  dwell." 

*  *  Yes,  but  the  examinations ! "  he  exclaimed,  utterly  hor- 
rified. 

' '  Oh,  those  stupid  examinations ! ' '  she  rejoined.  * '  What 
difference  does  it  make  whether  or  not  you  pass  ? ' ' 

Here  he  became  eager. 

*'You  don't  understand  at  all,  not  at  all.  Examinations 
are  in  a  sense  the  avenue  leading  to  every  good  position  in 
life,  no  matter  whether  you  enter  the  university  or  study 
architecture,  or  merely  try  for  a  good  place  in  the  postal 
service.    But  that,  of  course,  I  wouldn  't  do. '  * 

**A  man  like  you!"  she  interrupted. 

He  smiled  faintly,  feeling  stroked  the  right  way. 

"I  don't  want  to  storm  the  heavens  exactly,"  he  said, 
*'but  I  have  my  ambitions.  What  would  a  fellow  be  if  he 
had  no  ambitions?" 

**That  is  so,  isn't  it?"  Lilly  cried,  looking  up  to  him 
with  a  grateful  gleam  in  her  eyes.     The  feeling  that  she 


THe  Song  of  Songs  75 

Had  never  experienced  such  an  hour  of  joy  took  complete 
hold  of  her. 

When  he  arose  to  go — it  had  grown  quite  dark — she  felt 
actual  physical  pain,  as  if  a  piece  of  her  body  were  being 
torn  from  her. 

He  had  almost  closed  the  door  when  he  turned  and  said 
as  one  who  wishes  to  be  sure  where  he  treads : 

**If  it^s  not  troubling  you  too  much,  do  hunt  for  the 
poems  once  more.    Perhaps  you  will  find  them.'* 

Turning  back  a  second  time: 

"You  might  lay  the  book  under  the  door-mat  if  you 
find  if 

Lilly  hastily  lighted  the  lamp  and  obediently  started  on 
the  search.  After  a  time  the  futility  of  doing  so  occurred 
to  her. 

•        •        • 

He  spent  the  summer  vacation  in  the  country  with  a 
companion  in  misery,  with  whom  he  crammed  for  the  ex- 
aminations. The  written  tests  were  to  be  given  immedi- 
ately after  the  opening  of  school,  and  the  oral  tests  about 
the  middle  of  September. 

The  young  hero  looked  pale  and  exhausted,  and  reddish- 
brown  stubble  lay  in  the  hollows  of  his  cheeks  like  blotches 
of  blood. 

Lilly  was  unable  to  witness  such  wretchedness  in  silence, 
and  one  morning,  when,  returning  from  mass,  she  met  him 
alone  in  the  deserted  street,  she  ventured  to  stop  and  speak 
to  him. 

**You  must  spare  yourself,  Mr.  Kedlich,"  she  broke  out 
anxiously.  **You  must  keep  well  for  the  sake  of  your 
parents  and  those  who  love  you." 

He  seemed  more  embarrassed  than  pleased,  and  before 
finding  a  reply^  he  cast  rapid  sidelong  glances  in  all  direc- 
tions. 


76  The  Song  of  Songs 

*  *  Thank  you, ' '  he  stammered.  *  *  But  later,  if  you  please, 
later." 

He  dashed  past,  scarcely  daring  to  raise  his  cap. 

Lilly  realised  she  had  committed  an  indiscretion.  The 
houses  began  to  dance  before  her  eyes,  she  chewed  her 
handkerchief,  and  feared  the  passersby  might  laugh  and 
jeer  at  her.  When  ensconced  in  her  corner  behind  the  en- 
try book,  she  no  longer  doubted  that  she  had  lost  him  for- 
ever. 

She  had! 

He  came  and  went  without  greeting  her — he  came  at 
suppertime  and  left — she  heard  his  steps  all  the  way  down 
the  street. 

Over  and  done  for!     Over  and  done  for! 

But  lo  and  behold !  At  dusk  a  knock  was  heard  on  the 
door.  No,  not  exactly  a  knock,  rather  a  scratching  at  the 
door,  the  way  a  dog  with  a  guilty  conscience  scratches  when 
he  wants  to  be  let  in. 

There  he  stood.  Not  with  the  embarrassed  yet  business- 
like manner  with  which  he  had  entered  that  Sunday  even- 
ing when  the  graves  of  Ottensen  had  justified  his  coming. 
No,  this  time  his  heart  throbbed  anxiously.  He  was  like  a 
thief  who  lacks  skill  in  the  art  of  thieving. 

*'Is  Mrs.  Asmussen  here?"  he  whispered. 

**Mrs.  Asmussen  doesn't  come  in  here  at  this  time," 
she  whispered  back,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  joy. 

**Then  may — I  come  in — for  a  moment?" 

She  stepped  aside,  and  let  him  enter,  thinking: 

"How  can  a  person  endure  so  much  joy  without  dying 
of  it?" 

He  stammered  something  about  ''begging  her  pardon" 
and  **not  answering  her." 

She  responded  with  something  about  ''having  reproached 
herself"  and  "having  meant  it  well." 


The  Song  of  Songs  77 

Then  they  sat  down  opposite  each  other  with  the  counter 
between,  and  did  not  know  what  to  say  next. 

He  was  the  first  to  discover  the  way  into  the  region  of 
the  permissible. 

"A  fellow  sometimes  likes  to  exchange  thoughts  with 
a  congenial  young  lady/'  he  said  with  an  emphatic  air 
of  importance.  **But  he  seldom  finds  the  time — or  the 
opportunity. ' ' 

''Oh,  as  for  the  opportunity,"  thought  Lilly. 

Since  she  had  manifested  such  kindly  interest  in  him, 
and  since  an  exchange  of  views  would  certainly  be  edify- 
ing to  him,  especially  because  of  the  growing  emancipation 
of  women — which — ''*■ 

He  had  steered  into  a  tight  place,  but  his  sense  of  dignity 
did  not  forsake  him.  He  looked  at  Lilly  somewhat  chal- 
lengingly,  as  if  to  say,  ''You  see  how  able  I  am  to  cope 
with  this  difficult  situation." 

Lilly  had  not  caught  the  drift  of  his  talk.  From  the 
moment  she  recovered  her  power  of  thinking,  she  was 
dominated  by  one  feeling:  help  him,  save  him,  so  that  he 
doesn't  work  himself  to  death. 

"Once  we  girls  had  a  teacher,"  she  began,  "who  de- 
livered glorious  never-to-be-forgotten  lectures  in  class.  He 
worked  too  hard,  like  you,  and  by  this  time  he  must  cer- 
tainly have  died  of  consumption.  The  same  will  happen 
to  you,  if  you  don't  take  care  and  go  more  slowly." 

He  nodded  dejectedly. 

*  *  Yes,  life 's  hard,  very  hard. ' ' 

"You  must  get  enough  sleep,  and  go  walking.  Walking 
a  great  deal  is  the  very  best." 

"Do  you  go  walking?" 

Lilly  taken  aback  considered  a  moment.  Since  she  had 
been  in  that  hole  among  the  books,  she  had  not  seen  a  field 
of  snow  or  a  green  tree. 


78  The  Song  of  Songs 

*'0h,  I!"  she  threw  out,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
*'What  have  I  got  to  do  with  it?"  Then,  inwardly  rejoic- 
ing at  her  own  boldness,  she  added:  **How  would  it  be  if 
we  were  to  take  a  walk  together?" 

Now  it  was  his  turn  to  be  taken  aback. 

** There  are  such  a  lot  of  obstacles,"  he  observed, 
thoughtfully  shaking  his  mane.  * '  The  thing  would  be  mis- 
interpreted. There  are  considerations,  especially  so  far 
as  you  are  concerned — certainly,  especially  for  you. '  * 

Lilly  had  read  of  young  cavaliers  whose  solicitude  for 
their  lady's  good  name  exceeded  their  very  passion  for 
her,  and  she  looked  up  at  him  in  gratitude  and  admira- 
tion. 

** Don't  bother  about  me!  I'll  manage.  I'll  just  shirk 
early  mass." 

Though  she  felt  a  tiny  prick  at  her  heart  because  of 
her  blasphemous  words,  she  knew  that  for  the  sake  of 
such  a  walk  she  would  betray  God,  betray  St.  Joseph  him- 
self, without  the  least  hesitation. 

**But  I've  got  to  get  through  with  the  examinations 
first,"  he  explained. 

The  matter  was  settled  and  the  plan  sealed  with  mutual 
promises.  Accompanied  by  Lilly's  good  wishes  and  warn- 
ings, he  took  leave,  but  not  before  carefully  scanning 
street,  porch,  and  hall. 

Prom  now  on  Lilly's  life  was  one  glow  of  hope  and 
dreamy  anticipation.  She  would  lie  awake  half  the  night, 
picturing  to  herself  how  she  would  wander  over  the  golden 
meadows  with  him  in  the  light  of  dawn,  her  hand  pressed 
against  her  throbbing  heart,  her  arm  now  and  then  slightly 
grazing  his  elbow.  Each  time  she  thought  of  this  she  felt 
a  little  shock,  which  quivered  down  to  the  very  tips  of 
her  toes. 


The  Song  of  Songs  79 

She  read  nothing  but  hot,  passionate  books,  in  which 
there  wa-;  much  of  **  intoxication, ' '  **  transport, "  and  the 
** giddiness  of  endless  kisses."  But  she  did  not  dream  of 
kisses  in  connection  with  herself.  Whenever  she  found 
herself  drifting  in  that  direction,  she  checked  herself  in 
dismay — so  exalted  was  he  above  every  earthly  desire. 

Now  she  knew  what  reasons  justified  her  in  promising 
St.  Joseph  a  silver  heart. 

One  Sunday  morning  she  told  St.  Joseph  the  whole  story 
— about  Fritz  Redlich's  examinations,  his  high  ideals,  and 
her  solicitude  for  him.  The  only  thing  she  refrained  from 
mentioning  was  the  walk  they  had  planned;  which  she 
had  to  omit  on  account  of  the  shirked  mass. 

She  had  saved  about  sixty  marks,  which  she  carried  in  a 
leather  pocket  next  to  her  body.  The  silver  heart  would 
cost  twelve  marks  at  the  very  most.  Plenty  of  money 
remained  for  buying  a  gift  for  her  friend.  She  wavered 
long  between  a  gold-embroidered  college  portfolio  and 
gold-embroidered  slippers,  and  finally  decided  on  a  revolver 
in  a  case,  naturally  assuming  that  in  the  wild  struggle  for 
existence  he  would  be  exposed  to  many  dangers,  from 
which  only  reckless  daring  and  instant  decision  could  res- 
cue him.  A  revolver  and  case  cost  twenty-five  markJ>, 
gold  thread  for  embroidering  the  monogram,  five  marks. 
Thus  everything  was  arranged  in  the  best  possible  man- 
ner. 

When  she  saw  him  step  on  the  porch  the  morning 
of  examination  day,  white  as  the  glove  with  which  he 
waved  farewell  to  his  parents — he  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten her — she  felt  as  if  she  should  have  to  run  after  him 
and  press  the  weapon  of  deliverance  into  his  hand  without 
further  delay.  But  she  reflected  that  in  all  likelihood  the 
examiners  would  not  show  themselves  susceptible  to  that 
sort  of  eloquence. 


80  The  Song  of  Songs 

At  the  last  moment,  as  he  stepped  from  the  porch  to 
the  pavement,  a  timid  glance  of  his  fell  upo]:^  her,  and 
she  was  happy. 

At  one  o'clock  there  was  some  stir  on  the  street. 

They  were  bringing  him  home.  He  looked  weary  and 
completely  crushed,  but  the  others  whooped  and  huzzaed. 

The  old  sergeant  out  of  service  ran  to  meet  him  in  torn 
slippers,  and  violently  wiped  his  green-grey  bristly  beard 
on  his  son's  face.  From  the  kitchen  came  the  spicy  smell 
of  cooking  sausages. 

Lilly  ran  rejoicing  up  and  down  the  aisles  of  the  library, 
and  thought  with  a  sort  of  superior  satisfaction: 

' '  St.  Joseph 's  fine !    Isn  H  he  fine ! " 

The  very  next  morning  she  ordered  the  silver  heart,  and 
blushingly  asked  to  have  a  monogram  of  L.  C.  and  F.  R. 
engraved  on  it. 

When  she  returned  she  found  an  envelope  addressed  to 
her  among  the  order  slips  in  the  letter-box.  Inside  was 
a  soiled  menu  card  from  a  restaurant,  on  which  was  writ- 
ten:   ** Sunday  5  a.m.  on  the  porch." 

The  first  grey  of  dawn  entered  the  library  through  the 
lunettes  in  the  shutters. 

Lilly  sprang  out  of  bed  and  threw  the  windows  open. 

The  street  resembled  a  great  bowl  of  milk,  so  heavily 
the  white  mist  of  early  autumn  weighed  upon  the  ground. 
The  cold  damp  drizzle  did  her  hot  limbs  good.  She  spread 
her  arms  and  washed  herself  in  the  icy  air  as  in  a  bath. 

Her  light  summer  dress,  which  she  herself  had  washed 
and  ironed  the  evening  before,  hung  like  a  bluish  drift  on 
the  white  wall.  She  smartened  herself  as  never  before. 
This  festal  day  should  find  her  worthily  adorned. 

With  the  paltry  remnants  of  her  savings  she  had  bought 
a  large  yellow  shepherdess  hat  tying  under  the   chin, 


The  Song  of  Songs  81 

so  doing  away  with  the  need  for  a  collar.  And  openwork 
silk  gloves  suddenly  came  to  light,  having  been  discovered 
at  the  bottom  of  the  trunk,  where  they  had  long  lain  for- 
gotten« 

She  would  carry  the  heavy  revolver  in  her  work-bag. 
Before  slipping  it  in,  she  kissed  it  several  times,  and  said: 

'*  Watch  over  him  faithfully,  destroy  his  enemies,  and 
lead  him  on  to  victory." 

It  was  a  genuine  consecration  of  arms. 

At  five  o'clock  sharp  the  door  opposite  creaked  on  its 
hinges.  She  glided  into  the  hall.  On  the  porch  they  shook 
hands. 

His  eyes  were  bleared,  yet  he  looked  rather  enterprising. 
There  was  even  something  of  the  beau  in  his  get-up.  He 
wore  his  hat  tilted  a  bit  to  one  side,  and  in  his  left  hand 
swung  a  light  bamboo  cane  tipped  by  the  head  of  a  sea 
gull  in  silver. 

Lilly  stammered  congratulations. 

He  thanked  somewhat  condescendingly,  as  if  so  insignifi- 
cant a  matter  were  not  worth  all  that  to-do. 

**We  loaf  about  dreadfully  now,"  he  went  on.  *'I  can't 
say  I  get  a  great  deal  of  sport  out  of  it,  but  a  fellow  has 
to  know  something  of  the  follies  of  human  life,  too." 

When  they  passed  St.  Anne's,  a  thought  suddenly  flashed 
into  Lilly's  mind,  which  filled  her  with  bliss.  If  they  were 
to  go  into  the  church  for  a  moment,  the  sin  of  silence  would 
be  removed  from  her  soul,  and  St.  Joseph  could  even 
bestow  his  blessing  on  the  day. 

Timidly  she  gave  voice  to  her  wish — and  found  herself 
in  a  pretty  mess. 

**I  am  a  free-thinker,"  he  said,  **I  would  never  go  coun- 
ter to  my  convictions.  Nevertheless,  it  is  an  enlightened 
man's  duty  to  be  tolerant,  and  if  you  want  to  go  in,  I 
will  wait  outside." 


82  The  Song  of  Songs 

No,  she  no  longer  wanted  to,  and  she  was  terribly 
ashamed.  Of  course,  he  could  not  know  what  close  con- 
nection existed  between  St.  'Joseph  and  his  good  fortune. 
Otherwise  he  would  not  have  been  so  ungrateful. 

They  walked  in  silence  through  the  deserted  streets  of 
the  suburbs.  The  fog  lifted  a  little.  Lilly  chilled  through 
and  through  shivered  at  each  step.  Perhaps  excitement 
was  the  cause.  On  the  whole,  however,  she  felt  much 
calmer  than  she  had  expected  to.  Everything  was  so 
altogether,  altogether  different.  A  little  disenchantment 
had  occurred,  she  did  not  know  how. 

She  cast  a  yearning  gaze  down  the  street,  at  the  end 
of  which  dark  trees  showed  their  heads. 

**When    once   we   are    out   there !'^   she   thought,    and 
clenched  her  teeth  to  keep  them  from  chattering. 
'    The  silence  began  to  paralyse  her  thoughts.     She  would 
gladly  have  started  a  conversation,  had  she  been  able  to 
think  of  a  suitable  beginning. 

A  baker's  boy  was  walking  ahead  of  them  whistling. 

*'When  we  worked  all  night,*'  said  Fritz  Kedlich  sud- 
denly, **we  always  bought  warm  rolls.  We  might  get 
some  now.  *  * 

Lilly  became  joyous  again. 

To  be  sure,  had  he  said  **we  might  steal  some,''  she 
would  have  liked  it  better. 

The  baker's  boy  was  not  permitted  to  sell  his  rolls — 
just  the  right  number  for  delivery  had  been  doled  out  to 
him — but  on  the  opposite  side  was  an  open  shop. 

When  Lilly  saw  her  hero  reappear  with  a  large  bag  in 
his  hand,  she  had  a  pleasant  sensation,  as  if  they  were 
beginning  housekeeping  together. 

They  now  walked  along  gardens  under  a  veritable  shower 
of  dew  falling  from  the  trees.  Lilly  shrugged  her  should- 
ers, and  did  not  know  what  to  do  she  felt  so  cold. 


Tlie  Song  of  Songs  83 

At  last  they  were  out  in  the  open  country. 

Mats  of  silver-grey  cobwebs,  each  weighted  down  with  a 
burden  of  dew,  were  spread  over  the  fields  of  high  stubble. 
Yellow  ridges  of  hills  bounded  the  semi-circle  of  the  land- 
scape, and  in  the  distance  rose  the  walls  of  the  woods. 

Lilly  stretched  her  arms  like  a  swimmer,  and  drew  in 
through  her  open  mouth  five  or  six  deep  breaths. 

"Aren't  you  feeling  well?*' 

Lilly  laughed. 

*  *  I  must  make  up  for  all  I  Ve  lost, ' '  she  said.  *  *  I  haven  *t 
breathed  for  a  whole  year.'* 

Peeling  frozen  still  she  began  to  run.  He  tried  to  keep 
pace,  but  soon  fell  behind,  and  panted  after  her,  hopping 
rather  than  running. 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  first  hill,  the  sun 
began  to  rise  over  the  plain.  The  brushwood  seemed  to  be 
on  fire,  and  the  cobwebs  shone  like  silver.  Each  dew-drop 
became  a  glittering  spark,  a  flame  ran  along  each  thread. 

Lilly,  warmed  and  excited  from  running,  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  heaving  breast,  and  stared  into  the  sea  of  red 
with  drunken  eyes. 

**0h,  look,  look,"  she  stammered,  giving  his  face  a 
questioning,  searching  glance. 

She  half  expected  him  to  recite  odes,  sing  hymns,  and 
play  the  harp. 

He  stood  there  trying  to  get  his  breath,  to  all  appear- 
ances occupied  exclusively  with  himself. 

**Do  recite  something,  Mr.  Redlich,"  she  begged.  "A 
poem  by  Klopstock,  or  something  else."  She  had  not  got- 
ten up  to  Goethe  in  school. 

He  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  replied: 

** Catch  me!  Now  that  examinations  are  over  German 
literature  may  go  to  the  dogs  for  all  I  care." 

Lilly  felt  ashamed  and  said  nothing  more,  fearing  the 


84  The  Song  of  Songs 

expression  of  such  crude  desires  must  make  her  culture  ap- 
pear half  baked.  When  she  looked  up  again,  the  glow 
was  gone.  The  fields  still  sent  up  yellowish-red  vapours  to 
meet  the  climbing  sun,  whose  effulgence  hung  coldly,  al- 
most indifferently,  over  the  earth  begging  for  light. 

They  walked  on  toward  the  woods. 

He  swung  the  paper  bag.  From  either  side  of  the  road 
she  gathered  blackberries,  which  depended  like  bunches  of 
glistening  black  beads  from  bushes  overlaid  with  a  film 
of  cobwebs. 

Some  distance  on,  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  they  came 
upon  a  bench.  Without  discussing  it,  they  simply  made 
for  the  seat.    It  was  the  place  they  needed. 

Lilly  felt  a  little  oppression  at  her  heart.  Here  she 
was  finally  to  receive  the  revelations  for  which  her  soul 
languished;  here  she  was  to  look  into  the  heaven-gazing 
eyes  of  the  young  genius. 

He  opened  the  bag,  and  she  laid  her  handkerchief  filled 
with  the  blackberries  alongside. 

The  work-bag  containing  the  heavy  revolver  was  depos- 
ited for  the  time  being  between  the  rounds  of  the  bench. 
Lilly  hollowed  out  the  rolls,  and  filled  them  with  black- 
berries, and  the  two  breakfasted  together  very  cosily. 

The  golden  shimmer  of  early  autumn  poured  its  en- 
chantment over  them.  Lilly  ^s  brain  grew  heavy  with  long- 
ing and  happiness.  She  could  have  sunk  to  the  ground, 
and  laid  her  forehead  against  his  knees  merely  for  sup- 
port, because  approaching  fulfillment  was  more  than  she 
could  bear. 

He  had  removed  his  cap.  A  curly  lock  fell  over  his 
forehead  down  to  his  eyebrows,  giving  his  face  a  sombre 
expression,  as  if  he  were  challenging  the  whole  world. 
This  ** genius  lock'*  was  the  fashion  among  the  boys  of  the 
last   year  high   school   and   was   especially   cherished   by 


The  Song  of  Songs         ^ 


those  who  did  not  aspire  to  the  stylishness  of  bej 
to  a  students'  corps. 

His  gaze  rested  on  the  church  towers  of  the  old  c. 
which  resembled  awkward,  faithful,  sleepy  watchmen  loOi 
ing  down  on  the  wide-spreading  clusters  of  house  tops. 

*  *  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  are  thinking  about  ? ' '  asked 
Lilly,  bashfully  admiring.  The  great  moment — at  last  it 
had   come. 

He  gave  a  short  and  somewhat  mocking  laugh. 

**I  am  calculating  how  many  ministers  get  their  living 
in  a  nest  like  that,  and  how  comfortable  it  is  for  a  fellow 
if  he  just  studies  theology.'* 

**Why  don't  you?  Learning  flows  in  on  one  from  all 
sides. ' ' 

**You  don't  understand,"  he  reproved  her  gently. 
*' Learning  is  not  the  chief  thing.  Conviction  is.  One 
must  do  everything  for  the  sake  of  one's  conviction,  suf- 
fer want,  suffer  all  sorts  of  privations.  The  city  has  six 
scholarships  to  bestow  upon  theological  students,  but  I 
would  rather  chop  my  hand  off  than  accept  one.  A  man 
must  take  up  the  fight  for  his  convictions,  and  that's 
what  I'm  going  to  do — day  after  to-morrow." 

His  small,  short-sighted  eyes  sparkled.  He  stroked  the 
genius  lock  from  his  forehead  with  a  trembling  hand. 

Now  she  had  him  where  she  wanted  him.  Perhaps  this 
was  the  very  instant  in  which  to  hand  him  the  revolver. 
But  out  of  respect  for  the  greatness  of  his  mood,  she  de- 
ferred the  matter  for  a  while. 

Taking  a  firmer  hold  of  the  bag  in  which  the  revolver 
was  lying,  she  went  into  raptures  as  once  before  on  the 
porch. 

' '  Oh,  Mr.  Redlich,  what  is  finer  than  such  a  fight  ?  To 
dive  into  the  waves  of  life!  To  spite  the  dark  powers  who' 
control  our  destiny,  and  wrest  our  fortune  from  them,  to 


The  Song  of  Songs 

at  of  the  struggle  each  time  with  greater:  strengtli, 
.e  iron  will.     Can  you  conceive  of  anything  more  up- 

But  this  time,  too,  her  adjuration  failed  to  awaken  an 
.cho. 

''Good  heavens,''  he  said,  ''on  close  inspection  what 
after  all  is  this  much-vaunted  fight?  Everybody  walks 
over  you,  in  winter  you  lie  in  a  cold  bed,  and  all  year 
round  you  have  nothing  to  eat.  Of  course,  I'm  going  to 
go  into  it,  of  course  I  am,  but  it's  hard,  yes,  indeed,  it's 
hard!     If  I  had  a  scholarship  I  should  feel  much  better." 

"So  that's  all  the  joy  you  have  in  facing  the  world?" 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  rejoined,  "a  fellow  who 
starts  out  with  nothing  but  a  satchel  of  darned  wash  and 
a  hundred-mark  bill — where 's  he  to  get  much  joy  from?" 

"He's  the  very  one! "Lilly  exclaimed,  eager  to  cast  a 
ray  of  her  own  confidence, into  his  heart.  "When  some- 
body is  like  you,  with  the  mark  of  greatness  on  his  face, 
then  the  world  lies  at  his  feet." 

She  described  a  semi-circle  with  her  right  hand,  taking 
in  the  entire  plain,  its  green  bushes  and  silvery  streams 
and  the  city  with  its  wreath  of  swelling  gardens  lying 
embedded  in  the  fields  like  a  lark's  nest  in  a  meadow. 
Lilly  felt  as  if  she  were  showing  him  a  small  copy  of  his 
future  realm. 

He  nodded  several  times  in  the  dejected  consciousness 
of  knowing  better  than  she  what  the  world  is  like.' 

"Dear  me,  it's  hard,"  he  observed,  "very,  very  hard." 

She  wanted  whether  or  no  to  convince  him  of  his  own 
ability  to  conquer,  and  growing  warmer  and  warmer  con- 
tinued with  her  peroration. 

*'If  only  I  could  express  what  I  know  and  feel.  If  only 
I  could  give  you  some  of  my  own  assurance.    Look  at 


The  Song  of  Songs  "87 

me,  poor  thing  that  I  am.  I  have  no  father  or  mother, 
and  no  friends.  If  at  least  I  could  have  stayed  at  school 
and  graduated.  But  here  I  am,  without  a  vocation,  with- 
out money,  without  clothes  for  the  winter — not  even  a  de- 
cent pair  of  shoes."  She  stuck  out  the  worn  tips  of  her 
old  boots,  which  until  now  she  had  kept  carefully  hidden. 
**I  don't  get  as  much  to  eat  as  I  need  either;  and  if  I 
come  home  too  late  to-day,  I  shall  be  whipped.  Yet  I  know 
that  happiness  is  lying  in  wait  for  me.  It  is  here  already 
— in  every  breeze  that  blows  my  way,  in  every  sunbeam 
that  smiles  at  me — ^the  whole  world  is  happiness — the  whole 
world  is  music — everything's  a  Song  of  Songs — every- 
thing's a  Song  of  Songs!" 

She  turned  from  him  with  an  impetuous  movement,  to 
keep  him  from  seeing  how  she  was  quivering  all  over. 

Down  in  the  city  the  chimes  began  to  ring.  St.  Mary,' 
once  the  cathedral,  now  the  chief  Protestant  church,  came 
first  with  its  three  resounding  clangs.  St.  George  uttered 
a  clear  third  E-G — on  high  festivals  it  added  a  paternal, 
rumbling  C.  More  bells  followed.  St.  Anne's  thin  tink- 
ling joined  in — ^modest,  yet  to  be  distinguished  the  instant 
it  began.  There  was  a  secret  whispering  and  calling  in  it : 
**We  know  each  other,  we  love  each  other,  and  St.  Joseph 
says  'Good  morning.'  " 

Lilly's  friend  seemed  to  have  used  the  period  of  her 
silence  in  order  to  win  back  his  spiritual  balance.  With 
the  little  air  of  didactic  dignity  that  he  liked  to  assume 
when  he  felt  he  had  the  advantage  in  a  situation,  he  be- 
gan: 

"I  am  almost  inclined  to  think  we  don't  quite  under- 
stand each  other.  I  was  at  great  pains  to  make  a  careful 
study  of  the  problems  of  life,  and  so  I  see  somewhat  deeper 
into  things  than  you.     I'm  up  to  snuff  about  the  so-called 


88      •  The  Song  of  Songs 

illusions  of  youth.  I  know  what  men  are  worth,  and  I 
should  advise  you  to  be  a  little  more  cautious  about  what 
you  do.'' 

**What  do  you  meanT'  she  asked,  astounded. 

He  gave  her  a  sidewise  smile  with  an  air  of  mingled 
superiority  and  uncertainty. 

*'Well,  beauty  carries  certain  dangers  in  its  train." 

** Nonsense,  beauty!'*  Lilly  cried,  glowing  all  over. 
**Who  thinks  of  such  silliness?" 

**The  person  upon  whom  nature  has  bestowed  such  a 
gift,"  he  went  on,  **has  many  reasons  for  being  on  her 
guard.  For  instance,  it 's  a  piece  of  good  luck  for  you  that 
you  chanced  upon  so  strict  and  correct  a  young  man  as  I 
am.  Another  man  with  a  more  frivolous  nature  than  mine 
would  have  made  an  entirely  different  use  of  an  excursion 
like  this.    You  may  be  sure  of  that. ' ' 

Lilly  stared  at  him.  She  was  carried  away  by  a  whirl 
of  obscure  and  disagreeable  thoughts.  What  did  he  want 
of  her?  Was  he  reproaching  her?  Did  he  scorn  her  be- 
cause of  her  most  sacred  feelings  ? 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  said,  utterly  discomposed.  ''I  wish 
we  were  at  home." 

*' Understand  me,"  he  began  again.  **I  am  by  no  means 
a  Pharisee.  I  have  a  thorough  comprehension  of  the  weak- 
nesses of  human  nature.  I  am  only  offering  you  a  bit  of 
advice  in  all  modesty,  and  some  day  you  will  thank  me  for 
it.  It  is  not  for  nothing  that  a  fellow  has  his  principles. 
Should  we  ever  meet  again  later  in  life,  you  will,  I  hope, 
not  have  to  be  ashamed  of  the  friend  of  your  youth. ' ' 

*'If  it's  a  question  of  shame,"  something  within  Lilly 
cried,  ' '  then  I  ought  to  feel  ashamed  now,  and  of  myself. ' ' 

Forward,  undignified,  ill-bred — that  was  what  she  held 
herself  to  be  for  having  begged  him  to  take  this  morning 
walk. 


The  Song  of  Songs  89 

Yet  there  had  been  nothing  evil  in  the  thing!  Where 
had  the  evil  suddenly  come  from? 

The  chimes  were  still  making  music,  the  sun  was  still 
weaving  its  net  of  gold  about  her.  She  saw  nothing,  she 
heard  nothing,  so  very  ashamed  she  was.  She  wanted  to 
run  away,  but  did  not  dare  even  to  stir. 

As  for  him  he  no  longer  looked  as  if  he  needed  com- 
forting. His  manner  expressed  the  quiet  satisfaction  a 
man  feels  with  a  piece  of  work  just  completed. 

A  blackberry  had  remained  sticking  in  a  crevice  in  the 
seat  of  the  bench. 

''One  mustn't  get  spots  on  one's  clothes,"  he  admon- 
ished, and  stuck  the  berry  in  his  mouth,  slowly  crunching 
the  seeds  between  his  teeth. 

Lilly  pulled  herself  together,  and  caught  up  her  work- 
bag. 

''What  are  you  carrying  there?"  he  asked.  ''It  looks 
so  heavy. '* 

Lilly  in  terror  clutched  the  bag  tight. 

**Only  the  house  key,"  she  stammered. 

Then  they  went  home. 

*'If  only  I  could  change  his  mind,"  she  thought,  '*so 
that  he  would  have  a  favorable  opinion  of  me  again." 

Nothing  better  occurred  to  her  than  to  stoop  at  the 
wayside  and  pluck  the  finest  field  flowers  she  could  reach 
to  offer  to  him  as  a  farewell  gift  instead  of  that  other 
gift,  the  mere  thought  of  which  made  her  feel  like  a 
goose. 

She  handed  him  the  bouquet  keeping  her  eyes  turned 
aside.  He  thanked  her  with  a  pretty  bow,  and  twirled  the 
bamboo  cane  with  the  silver  handle — an  heirloom  of  which 
he  had  just  come  into  possession.  He  swung  it  boldly 
about  his  head,  the  way  future  corps  students  do  before 
making  a  high  carte. 


90  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  in  her  dejection  and  humiliation  was  unable  to 
say  a  word. 

"Doesn't  an  inner  voice/'  he  asked,  "tell  you  we  shall 
meet  some  time  again?" 

She  turned  her  face  away.  She  had  all  to  do  to  force 
back  the  tears  welling  up  in  her  eyes. 

"Then  I  hope  you  will  receive  proof  of  what  unre- 
mitting effort  and  unshakable  fidelity  to  one's  convictions 
can  accomplish  even  with  small  means." 

His  voice  now  sounded  full  and  vibrant  with  self-satis- 
fied energy.  While  making  her  small  and  timorous  he 
seemed  to  have  sucked  up  some  of  her  joyous  mood. 

When  they  drew  near  the  Altmarkt,  however,  he  be- 
came greatly  disquieted  again,  and  kept  spying  about  on 
all  sides.  Finally  he  remarked  that  the  streets  were  get- 
ting pretty  lively,  and  it  would  be  better  perhaps  if  they 
were  to  part  company  and  go  back  by  different  ways. 

A  few  days  later  he  left  home,  and  the  house  was  per- 
fumed with  the  garlic  of  the  sausage  that  Mrs.  Redlich 
sliced  into  his  soup  as  a  farewell  offering. 

Lilly  stood  behind  the  window  curtain  with  burning 
eyes,  and  thought  in  her  sorrow: 

"Oh,  I  wish  I  had  never  seen  him!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

One  grey  October  morning,  which  hid  the  threat  of  ap- 
proaching winter  behind  a  mask  of  moist,  warm  mist  as 
behind  a  hypocritical  smile,  the  wonderful  happened: 
Mrs.  Asmussen's  runaway  daughters  came  back  again. 

Without  casting  a  shadow  before  them,  there  they  were 
all  of  a  sudden,  shoving  several  bulging  hand-bags  into  the 
library,  measuring  Lilly  with  an  astonished  look  of  gra- 
cious frigidity,  and  ordering  her  to  pay  for  the  cab — they 
had  no  change. 

Lilly  felt  the  throbbing  of  her  heart  up  to  her  neck. 
The  moment  the  two  grand,  voluptuous  figures  appeared  on 
the  scene  and,  though  looking  a  bit  weather  beaten  and 
washed  out,  swept  victoriously  into  possession  of  the  ter- 
ritory, she  knew  they  were  Mrs.  Asmussen's  daughters. 

She  cast  one  anxious  look  at  the  pretty,  pug-nosed  faces, 
where  two  pairs  of  bright  grey  eyes  challenged  the  door 
of  the  rear  room,  and  another  anxious  look  at  the  broom 
of  welcome,  whose  hour  had  come.  Then  she  hurried  off 
to  avoid  the  terrors  bound  to  follow  upon  the  opening  of 
the  middle  door. 

In  the  cab  she  found  two  withered  bouquets  of  gladioli, 
a  Scotch  plaid  rolled  in  a  shawl  strap,  from  which  two  um- 
brella handles — large  blue  glass  knobs,  the  size  of  a  man's 
fist — were  sticking  out,  some  cushions  trimmed  with  diag- 
onal bars,  and  a  whisky  flask.  There  was  also  a  tin  box 
of  lemon  drops  sans  lid,  and  a  disjointed  paper  hat-box, 
between  whose  cracks  a  comb  and  a  piece  of  buttered  bread 
were  striving  in  unison  to  find  their  way  into  freedom. 

91 


92  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  gathered  up  the  effects,  and  stopped  in  the  hall, 
listening  in  terror.  She  expected  to  hear  the  screams 
of  the  maltreated  girls.  But  all  was  serene,  and  when 
she  entered  she  saw  mother  and  daughters  hugging  and 
kissing. 

Since  there  was  no  time  left  before  the  midday  meal  to 
buy  a  roast  in  honor  of  the  festive  occasion,  dinner  con- 
sisted  of  cabbage  as  usual,  with  the  addition  of  a  mountain 
of  cakes  from  the  confectioner's,  to  which  the  girls  helped 
themselves  before  the  meal  in  order  to  lay  some  aside  for 
days  of  less  plenty. 

This  was  the  first  evidence  of  their  housekeeperly  thrift. 

Mrs.  Asmussen  beamed  with  motherly  joy  and  tender- 
ness. 

**Well,''  she  said,  **did  I  exaggerate  when  I  told  you 
about  these  glorious  creatures  ?  Too  bad  I  had  to  do  with- 
out them  for  so  long.  But  I  am  modest  in  my  demands, 
and  I  am  glad  enough  to  get  what  I  do.  I  know  their 
hearts  draw  them  now  to  their  father,  now  to  their  mother, 
because  they  cannot  make  up  their  minds  to  deprive 
either  of  us  permanently  of  the  gift  of  their  pure  filial 
love.'' 

She  was  sitting  between  the  girls,  and  she  pressed  a  hand 
of  each.  All  three  looked  into  one  another's  eyes  de- 
votedly. 

The  absent  pater  familias  was  remembered  touchingly. 
Their  gay,  talented  father,  the  girls  said,  intended  to  give 
up  his  large  business,  to  assume  the  management  of  ex- 
tensive farms  in  the  south  of  Eussia  at  the  urgent  invita- 
tion of  influential  patrons. 

Later,  in  Mrs.  Asmussen 's  gloomier  hours,  it  transpired 
that  that  ''pock-marked  scoundrel"  had  had  to  scurry  off 
because  of  some  questionable  notes,  and  hide  in  Odessa 
until  the  atmosphere  in  the  north  cleared. 


THe  Song  of  Songs  93 

To  Lilly's  unpractieed  eye  the  girls  were  as  like  as  two 
sparrows — saucy,  greedy,  inconstant,  and  amorous.  It  was 
only  after  a  time  that  she  learned  to  distinguish  between 
them.  Lona,  the  older,  who  possessed  some  beauty  of  a 
coarse  kind,  had  the  ways  of  a  clutching,  grasping  bar- 
maid, and  was  the  sharper  of  the  two,  usually  dragging 
her  sister  Mi  in  tow,  whose  chief  characteristic  was  a  sort 
of  flabby  droUness. 

In  their  treatment  of  Lilly  they  observed  for  the  time 
being  the  pacific  attitude  of  suspicion  willing  to  bide  its 
time.  Hints  were  not  omitted  to  inform  a  certain  person 
that  they  would  soon  learn  what  position  to  take  and 
whether  there  was  to  be  peace  or  war. 

"When  they  were  finally  convinced  that  Lilly  was  shy 
and  harmless,  the  waves  of  their  tender  confidences  met 
over  her  head. 

It  now  became  the  regular  thing  for  all  three  of  them  to 
sit  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  until  late  at  night  with  their 
corsets  open  and  their  knees  drawn  up  to  their  chins, 
talking,  talking,  talking,  while  they  sucked  candies  bought 
on  the  sly,  or  dressed  one  another's  hair.  Beautiful  souls 
poured  forth  confessions.  Whispered  confidences  about 
love  adventures  and  man-baiting  flowed  on  steadily,  flood- 
ing Lilly's  pure  fancy  with  a  turbid  stream  of  sexual  mys- 
teries. 

What  the  Asmussen  girls  liked  above  all  was  to  have 
their  bodies  admired. 

'^When  I  turn  this  way,  isn't  the  set  of  my  shoulders 
classic?" 

** Haven't  I  a  marble  bosom?" 

'  *  If  I  weren  't  so  bashful,  I  'd  take  off  my  shirt  and  show 
you  my  hips.     They  are  like  a  goddess's." 

They  made  less  frequent  appeals  for  criticism  of  their 
features. 


M  iThe  Song  of  Songs 

"WeVe  gotten  so  many  compliments  about  our  good 
looks  that  we  can't  have  any  doubts  on  that  score." 

Nevertheless  when  cold  weather  set  in,  and  necessitated 
the  wearing  of  woolen  scarfs  over  their  heads,  they  did 
not  scorn  to  discuss  'the  truly  Greek  way  their  hair  had 
of  growing  low  on  their  foreheads,  or  the  seductive  curves 
of  their  mouths. 

They  could  also  be  severely  self-critical. 

**Our  eyes  are  not  beautiful,  we  know.  Yours,  for  in- 
stance, are  much  lovelier.  But  whether  you  cast  sheep's 
eyes  at  anybody  or  not,  it's  all  the  same.  Now,  if  we 
just  chuck  a  little  sidelong  glance — ^you'd  think  no  one 
could  possibly  notice  it — ^why,  in  a  jiffy  they're  after  us 
like  mad." 

Their  iridescent,  cattish  eyes  would  twinkle  with  the 
pleasant  sense  "of  unbounded  power  and  triumph  over  the 
weakness  of  that  strong  animal  man. 

The  advice  they  dispensed  liberally  to  Lilly  might  be 
summed  up  in  one  sentence:  **Do  what  you  please,  but 
don't  surrender  yourself." 

They  laid  no  restraint  upon  themselves  in  retailing  spicy 
stories,  which  set  Lilly's  pulse  to  bounding,  and  in  which 
they  proved  their  absolute  seriousness  in  the  observance  of 
this  motto. 

They  manifested  a  strong  sensual  craving.  One  of  them 
once  remarked: 

**My  highest  ideal  is  to  be  queen  of  the  bees,  but  to  have 
no  children." 

The  other,  who  seemed  inclined  to  ethical  speculations, 
rejoined  vivaciously : 

**My  highest  ideal  is  to  be  a  nun  and  horribly  immoral.*' 

She  pursued  the  theme,  entering  into  all  details  after  the 
manner  of  the  Renaissance  narrators,  while  Lilly's  pious 
soul  trembled  and  shuddered. 


The  Song  of  Songs  95 

Their  libertinism  of  thought  notwithstanding,  all  their 
hopes  and  dreams  centered  about  marriage. 

To  marry,  as  quickly  as  possible  and  as  advantageously 
as  possible,  was  salvation,  career,  a  specific  for  all  ills, 
earthly  bliss,  and  eternal  happiness. 

**That  is,  he  must  be  old,  he  must  be  rich,  and  he  must 
be  stupid.*' 

This  trinity  embodied  all  their  demands  of  fate.  As 
others  invest  their  husbands-to-be  with  supernatural  vir- 
tues, these  girls  revelled  in  picturing  their  future  spouses* 
infirmities  and  in  recounting  the  tricks  they  meant  to 
play  upon  them  by  virtue  of  their  bodily  and  spiritual 
superiority. 

They  were  not  always  agreed  as  to  the  ways  and  means 
of  obtaining  this  precious  possession  so  absolutely  indis- 
pensable to  life.  A  favorite  subject  of  debate  between 
them  was:  **Is  it  expedient,  or  is  it  not  expedient,  to 
compromise  oneself  with  the  man  of  one  *s  choice  ? ' ' 

Lona,  whose  daring  in  hatching  difficult  schemes  of  ac- 
tion knew  no  bounds,  upheld  the  positive  side.  Mi,  who 
wished  to  be  sure  where  she  trod,  inclined  to  the  negative. 

**If  you  knew  those  male  milksops  half  as  well  as  I 
do,'*  Lona  scolded,  ** you'd  realize  that  the  best  way  to 
catch  them  is  through  fear.  Make  them  sin,  and  twist 
their  sin  about  their  necks  like  a  halter.  That's  the  only 
way  to  be  sure  of  them." 

**It's  very  odd,"  Mi  returned  with  inexorable  logic, 
*'that  you  haven't  practised  what  you  preach,  because  if 
you  had,  you'd  long  ago — " 

Discretioni  bade  her  break  off.  Her  sister's  fingers, 
crooked  ready  to  scratch,  boded  no  good. 

Only  a  week  after  their  arrival  a  love  tilt  took  place 
between  them,  in  which  hair  puffs  and  petticoat  strings 
flew  about,  and  from  which  Mi  emerged  with  a  laceration 


96  The  Song  of  Songs 

which  Lilly  had  to  treat  with  vinegar  compresses  the  rest 
of  the  night. 

The  cause  of  their  contention  was  a  ''swell"  who  had 
followed  them  on  their  afternoon  walk,  and  who,  according 
to  Mi,  had  been  discouraged  from  coming  closer  because 
her  sister  had  not  responded  sufficiently  to  his  advances. 

Lona  asserted  the  principle  that  one  must  have  nothing 
at  all  to  do  with  so-called  ''swells,"  while  Mi  was  of  the 
opinion  that  he  would  have  been  good  enough  for  a  hus- 
band at  any  rate. 

Strolling  through  the  streets  and  permitting  themselves 
to  be  accosted  soon  became  their  chief  and  daily  occupa- 
tion. Lilly,  who  had  credited,  and  been  greatly  disturbed 
by,  the  threats  they  first  made  that  they  would  assume 
the  management  of  the  business,  soon  realized  she  had 
nothing  to  apprehend  in  this  regard. 

They  slept  until  nine,  and  took  two  hours  for  dressing. 
Then  they  went  out  for  their  morning  walk  to  make  the 
necessary  estimates  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  garrison,  who 
at  that  hour  of  the  day  promenaded  in  groups  near  the 
main  guard. 

If  the  first  half  of  the  day  was  dedicated  to  the  mili- 
tary, the  second  half  was  devoted  chiefly  to  ordinary 
citizens. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  afternoon  coffee  was  taken 
nowhere  else  than  at  Frangipani's  confectionery  shop, 
where  a  few  lieutenants  and  a  number  of  city  officials  and 
young  lawyers  gathered  to  play  chess  or  skat ;  and  where, 
too,  many  a  more  dashing  high  school  teacher  came  to 
display  his  kinship  with  the  proper  world  of  fashion. 

After  this  hour,  spiced  by  all  sorts  of  sweets,  followed 
the  promenade  at  twilight,  which  proved  highly  advan- 
tageous for  establishing  possible  connections,  and  pro- 
vided the  subjects  needed  for  discussion  at  home. 


The  Song  of  Songs  97 

It  would  not  be  stating  the  full  truth  to  say  that  Mrs. 
Asmussen  brought  a  loving  sympathy  to  bear  in  her  judg- 
ment of  this  kind  of  life.  Certainly  not.  The  mutual 
adulation  of  the  first  few  days  had  given  place  to  a  period 
of  sultriness,  when  cutting  remarks  flashed  in  the  murky 
atmosphere  like  streaks  of  lightning.  Then  a  season  of 
protracted  storm  set  in,  and  mishaps  occurred  in  swift  suc- 
cession, gradually  becoming  so  purely  a  matter  of  course 
that  even  Lilly,  who  at  first  had  wept  and  screamed  along 
with  the  other  three,  began  to  consider  this  the  normal  con- 
dition of  the  Asmussen  household.  Abusive  epithets  of 
unsuspected  vigor  flew  hither  and  thither,  and  the  place 
resounded  with  cuiflngs.  Even  the  broom,  which  in  the 
beginning  had  not  been  given  a  thought,  was  now  drawn 
into  its  strictly  limited  field  of  activity. 

Peace  did  not  come  until  evening,  when  Mrs.  Asmus- 
sen's  medicine  asserted  its  rights.  The  two  girls  might 
have  taken  advantage  of  her  oblivion  to  give  free  play  to 
their  desires,  had  not  their  highly  developed  sense  of  pro- 
priety strictly  forbidden  going  out  at  night. 

''Persons  meeting  us  would  take  us  for  fast  girls,''  they 
said,  **and  then  no  wedding  bells  for  us." 

One  would  scarcely  believe  with  what  a  number  of  con- 
ventions the  young  ladies  circumscribed  their  apparently 
unrestrained  existence. 

You  may  let  yourself  be  kissed  as  much  as  you  like,  but 
on  no  account  kiss  back. 

You  may  let  a  gentleman  call  you  by  your  first  name  in 
conversation,  but  if  he  does  so  in  a  letter  it  is  an  insult. 

You  may  let  a  gentleman  treat  you  to  coffee  and  cake, 
but  not  to  bread  and  butter. 

You  may  let  a  strange  man  tread  on  your  foot,  but  if  he 
attempts  to  press  your  hand  under  the  table  you  must 
get  up. 


98  The  Song  of  Songs 

And  so  on. 

Lilly  had  absolutely  no  comprehension  for  this  set  of 
thoughts  and  desires.  Hitherto  man  as  a  male  had  been 
a  piece  of  life  non-existent  in  bodily  form,  which  came  to 
her  notice  on  occasions,  but  glided  by  like  a  stranger  with- 
out holding  her  attention.  She  had  solely  loved  the  man 
of  her  dreams,  the  man  of  her  novels,  the  man  of  her  own 
creation.  The  thing  that  stared  at  her  on  the  street,  the 
thing  that  came  to  exchange  books  and  found  all  sorts  of 
little  pretexts  for  entering  into  conversation  with  her, 
the  thing  that  officiously  held  aside  the  wadded  curtain 
of  the  church  door  as  she  entered,  or  played  the  amiable 
over  a  shop  counter,  this  thing  was  a  strange,  annoying 
fact ;  it  was  stupid  and  brazen,  a  matter  of  unspeakable  in- 
difference, to  think  of  which  would  be  a  waste  of  time  and 
a  degradation. 

A  girl's  entire  life,  she  now  learned,  was  here  simply 
for  the  sake  of  that  gross  and  disgusting  race ;  and  a  girl 
could  concern  herself  about  them  from  the  moment  she 
rose  to  the  moment  she  fell  asleep,  without  cherishing  the 
thought  of  the  one  for  whom  she  had  been  created  as  for 
work  and  faith  and  God. 

Though  Lilly  knew  she  was  infinitely  above  being  in- 
fluenced by  the  two  girls*  advice  and  example,  she  felt, 
in  spite  of  herself,  a  small  desire  arising  within  her  to  find 
out  what  the  nature  of  those  creatures  might  be  about 
whom  such  a  fuss  was  made,  whose  approval  brought  pleas- 
ure, whose  coldness  meant  annihilation. 

She  was  beset  by  a  tormenting  fear  of  that  dreadful, 
seething  world  outside  there,  of  the  dirt  that  was  carried 
to  her  door  every  day  anew,  and  of  the  disquieting  curi- 
osity with  which  she  picked  it  up  to  examine  it.  For 
whether  or  no,  her  thoughts  would  return  to  the  gay  pic- 
tures, painted  in  colors  of  poison,  which  the  two  sisters, 


The  Song  of  Songs  99 

growing  ever  more  demoralized,  unrolled  before  her  eyes 
evening  after  evening. 

It  was  a  piece  of  good  fortune  that  the  hot  friendship 
both  at  first  bestowed  upon  her  cooled  off  somewhat  after 
a  month  or  so. 

The  cause  was  the  enigmatic  shortage  in  the  cash  box, 
which  occurred  time  and  again,  and  came  to  be  a  perma- 
nent phenomenon.  Lilly  would  spend  hours  calculating 
feverishly,  entering  and  counting  every  cent,  until  finally 
there  was  no  other  conclusion  to  be  reached  than  that  some 
one  had  used  the  few  moments  of  her  absence  to  dip  into 
the  drawer  where  the  box  was  kept. 

In  order  to  save  herself — in  case  of  discovery  she  would 
be  accused  of  the  theft — she  once  carried  the  key  of  the 
drawer  away  with  her  as  if  unintentionally,  and  did  so  re-;^ 
peatedly,  until  the  girls'  manner,  which  had  grown  increas- 
ingly estranged  and  scornful,  assured  her  that  she  was  on 
the  right  tack. 

On  one  occasion  th'  gave  vent  to  their  wrath  and  dis- 
illusionment. 

Did  she,  stray  dog  that  she  was,  think  she  was  mistress 
of  the  place?  If  need  be,  books  and  keys  would  be  taken 
from  her  by  force. 

In  mortal  fright  Lilly  ran  to  the  mother  and  threatened 
to  leave  that  instant  unless  she  was  allowed  to  control  af- 
fairs as  before. 

Mrs.  Asmussen,  who  knew  her  scapegrace  offspring 
through  and  through,  took  sides  with  Lilly,  and  the  storm 
seemed  to  have  blown  over. 

The  girls  took  to  entreaty  and  in  reawakened  intimacy 
gave  Lilly  new  and  comprehensive  views  into  the  depths  of 
their  soul  life. 

Did  she  think  they  eared  a  row  of  pins  for  the  miserable 
little  meringues  they  ate  at  Fraofiipani  's  ?    Not  «  \ttt  of  it. 


100  The  Song  of  Songs 

They  were  clever  enough  to  know  how  to  provide  for  the 
future.  At  any  rate  they  couldn't  stay  with  that  old  guz- 
zler forever,  especially  since  the  place  had  turned  out  to 
be  absolutely  unproductive  in  regard  to  good  matches.  So 
for  a  long  time  they  had  been  saving  money  industriously 
for  another  flight.  It  was  no  exaggeration  to  say  they 
were  starving  themselves  miserably.  Lilly  with  her  paltry 
desires  could  have  no  idea  how  many  temptations  they  with- 
stood when  they  sat  at  a  table  in  the  confectionery  shop  at 
supper-time,  and  had  to  look  upon  all  sorts  of  glorious 
goodies  without  tasting  them. 

Lilly  remained  unmoved  by  their  persuasive  wiles.  Their 
manner  cooled  off  again,  and  they  began  to  pass  her  by, 
tacitly  showing  their  sense  of  injury. 

Soon  events  occurred  that  fanned  their  enmity  into  a 
lively  fire. 


CHAPTER  X 

It  was  dusk  of  a  wet  November  day.  The  spouts  were 
streaming  and  an  endless  chain  of  grey  drops  glided  down 
the  iron  rods  of  the  porch  railing  and  fell  precipitously 
into  the  pool  gleaming  on  the  pavement  below. 

A  miserable  sort  of  sport  to  watch  the  game !  But  what 
better  diversion  had  the  day  to  offer  ? 

Suddenly  the  front  door  opened,  the  library  bell  rang 
sharply,  and  in  came  a  nimble  little  fellow,  capering  and 
stamping,  and  exhaling  an  aroma  of  Russia  leather  and 
Parma  violets.  His  coat  collar  was  turned  up  and  his 
hat  pulled  far  down.  His  close-cut  blond  hair  shone  like 
yellowish-white  velvet. 

He  measured  Lilly  from  between  lids  masterfully  nar- 
rowed to  a  slit  with  a  cursory  and  apparently  disillusioned 
glance,  threw  out  a  strident  **good  evening, ''  and  examined 
the  back  part  of  the  room,  as  if  expecting  some  one  to 
emerge  from  behind  the  bookcases  and  give  him  a  special 
greeting. 

Lilly  asked  what  she  could  do  for  him. 

*'0h,  you  are  the  young  lady  in  charge  of  the  circulat- 
ing library?'*  he  asked.  The  existence  of  such  a  young 
lady  seemed  to  transport  him  into  a  kind  of  careless 
gaiety. 

Lilly  said  she  was. 

** Splendid!''  he  replied.  '^Just  splendid!"  And  a 
thousand  little  merry  devils  danced  in  his  blinking,  white- 
lashed  eyes. 

Lilly  asked  what  book  he  wished. 
101 


102  Tlie,  Song  of  Songs 

**Bie*it  known  to  you,  most  honored  and  erudite  miss,  I 
&m  not  .'exactly':  familiar  with  German  literature  and  the 
allied*  sciences,  but 'ever  since  yesterday  I  have  been  pos- 
sessed of  a  fabulous  and  downright  sophomoric  zeal  for 
culture.     If  you  would  help  me  with  your  valuable — *' 

He  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  stuck  a  monocle  in  his  eye, 
looked  her  up  and  down,  first  on  the  right  side,  then  on 
the  left,  the  way  an  intending  purchaser  scrutinises  a 
long-legged  horse,  murmured  something  like  **the  devil," 
and  asked  to  have  the  light  turned  on  immediately. 

Since  it  had  actually  grown  so  dark  that  the  numbers 
on  the  backs  of  the  books  were  illegible,  Lilly  saw  no  rea- 
son for  refusing  his  request. 

When  she  reached  up  in  all  her  glory  to  raise  the  chim- 
ney from  the  hanging  lamp,  he  uttered  a  second  and  more 
audible  **the  devil."  And  when  she  stood  there  before 
him,  the  light  shining  on  her  sidewise,  with  an  uneasy, 
questioning  look  in  her  improbable  eyes — those  long-con- 
cealed *' Lilly  eyes" — ^he  sank  back  on  the  customers'  seat 
to  show  how  utterly  nonplussed  he  was,  and  folded  his 
hands  and  implored  her  forgiveness. 

Lilly  felt  a  hot  sense  of  insult  rising  in  her.  So  low 
was  she  esteemed  in  her  position  that  an  aristocratic  young 
man — the  first  who  had  strayed  in  to  her  in  the  course  of 
one  and  a  half  years — did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  show 
her  the  most  ordinary  courtesy. 

I     **If  you  do  not  wish  to  borrow  a  book,  sir,"  she  said, 
giving  him  a  superior  look,  ** please  leave  the  place." 

**What — ^what  did  you  say?"  he  rejoined,  outraged.  **I 
borrow  a  book?  One  book?  One  beggarly  book?  For 
every  five  minutes  I  am  permitted  to  stay  here  I  will  take 
out  a  whole  shelf  of  books,  for  all  I  care,  a  whole  case  of 
books — but  with  the  proviso  that  I  may  return  them  to- 
morrow.    I  will  immediately  contract  with  the  best  express 


The  Song  of  Songs  103 

company  in  town  to  keep  hauling  the  cases  away  and  back 
again.  But  one  moment — one  moment.  It  seems  to  me  I 
once  heard  that  for  every  book  taken  from  a  circulating 
library  you  have  to  leave  three  marks  deposit.     Isn't  that 

Lilly  stared  at  him  in  blank  astonishment  and  said  it 
was  so. 

**Well,  since  I  haven't  such  an  amount  of  money  in  my 
possession  just  now,  I  must  ask  you  to  keep  me  here  as  a 
deposit.  So,  in  a  measure,  I  yield  myself  up  to  you  for 
imprisonment.  Very  vexatious  for  both  parties,  I'm  sure. 
But  what  else  is  to  be  done  in  the  circumstances  T ' 

In  spite  of  herself  Lilly  had  to  laugh. 

**0h,  she's  reconciled!"  he  cried  triumphantly.  **Her 
majesty  is  reconciled.  And  now  let  us  speak  to  each  other 
as  decorous  friends.  Observe  me  well.  Do  I  look  as  if  I 
read  books?  To  be  sure  I  have  my  favourites,  Schlicht, 
Roda-Roda  and  Winterfeld,  and  others  who  purport  to 
know  the  humour  of  soldiering  life.  But  if  I  come  here, 
it's  not  to  get  books.  The  thing  goes  deeper  than  that.  I 
hope  I  may  confide  in  you." 

*'If  you  think  it  necessary,"  stammered  Lilly,  whose  eyes 
were  fascinated  by  a  gleaming  chain  peeping  from  under 
the  sleeve  of  his  tan  overcoat.  She  did  not  know  men  ever 
wore  gold  bracelets. 

**  Evenings  I  like  to  get  into  mufti — ^the  rest  of  the  time, 
you  know,  I  wear  uniform — but  not  for  long  any  more — in 
a  few  weeks  I  depart  this  life,  because — do  you  know  what 
debts  are  1  No  ?  Then  rejoice.  Debts  are  the  sour  sedi-  / 
ment  in  the  lemonade  of  human  existence,  and  the  lem- 
onade at  that  is  none  too  sweet.  But  what  was  I  going  to 
say?  Oh,  yes — evenings  I  like  to  play  Harun-al-Rashid 
and  strive  to  win  the  favor  of  the  populace  by  honouring 
the  populace's  more  commendable  daughters  with  a  little^ 


104  The  Song  of  Songs 

conversation.  Understand?  So,  in  remoter  districts, 
where  high  are  the  hedges  and  silent  the  new  villas — so 
yesterday  I — behind  two  young  ladies — laughing  over  their 
shoulders  and  swinging  their  skirts,  exactly  the  way  well- 
bred  girls  are  wont  to  do — " 

**I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  should  like  this  talk  to  end,'' 
said  Lilly,  red  with  shame. 

* '  Not  at  all, ' '  he  said ;  *  *  I  knew  at  once  you  are  a  per- 
fect lady,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  ticklish  mat- 
ters. I  am  merely  confessing  in  order  to  secure  a  little 
absolution  from  your  purity. ' ' 

This  turn  did  Lilly's  soul  good,  and  she  did  not  oppose 
him  further. 

**So  the  two  young  ladies  were  walking  in  front  of  me 
arm  in  arm.  The  moment  I  reached  them  I  slipped  in 
between  like  a  slice  of  sausage  in  a  sandwich.  They  weren  't 
a  bit  offish.  They  told  me  they  owned  a  large  circulating 
library  and  intended  shortly  to  open  an  art  shop  in  Ber- 
lin, and  so  on.  But  they  didn  't  mention  their  address,  and 
since — I  admit  it  with  shame — until  a  few  moments  ago  I 
thought  they  had  some  good  points,  I  am  simply  making 
the  rounds  of  all  the  libraries  in  the  directory.  Besides 
the  well-known  bookstores  there  are  only  three.  I  investi- 
gated the  other  two,  and  now  that  I  know  the  third,  the  art 
shop  proprietresses  may  go  to  the  devil  for  all  I  care." 

A  feeling  of  scorn  and  mischievous  delight  arose  in  Lilly. 
She  gave  a  short  laugh,  but  took  good  care  not  to  disclose 
the  existence  of  the  Asmussen  girls. 

To  prove  to  her  that  in  the  presence  of  her  majesty 
all  desire  for  an  adventure  ended,  he  presented  himself 
formally:    **Von  Prell,  future  ex-lieutenant." 

Observing  her  questioning  look  he  continued : 

*'As  I  delicately  indicated,  my  days  in  the  regiment  are 
numbered." 


The  Song  of  Songs  105 

Lilly  timidly  inquired  whether  an  officer's  life  no  longer 
pleased  him. 

' '  Until  now  I  knew  of  no  sort  of  life  that  would  not  have 
pleased  me/'  Wanton  spirits  shot  little  gleams  from  his 
small  grey  eyes.  **But  the  paternal  riches  have  taken 
wing,  and  my  wages  as  army  serf  will  just  about  buy  rad- 
ishes, and  even  radishes  get  expensive  around  Christmas 
time.  So  the  best  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  buy  an  old 
herring  keg  and  let  myself  be  salted  and  packed.  If  you 
should  happen  to  know  of  one  to  be  had  cheap,  I  give  the 
best  prices." 

Lilly  frankly  laughed  a  joyous  laugh.  He  joined  in, 
holding  his  hands  to  his  hips  and  emitting  a  thin,  falsetto 
tehee,  which,  though  scarcely  audible,  shook  his  slim,  sin- 
ewy body  as  with  a  storm  of  merriment. 

They  now  sat  opposite  each  other  like  two  good  friends, 
with  the  counter  between.  Lilly  wished  the  hour  would 
never  end. 

A  maid  entered  to  exchange  a  volume  of  Flygare-Carlen 
for  her  mistress.  He  unassumingly  disposed  himself  for 
a  stay,  examined  the  backs  of  several  books,  and  acted  alto- 
gether as  if  he  were  at  home.  When  the  maid  left  he 
pulled  the  door  open  obsequiously  and  bowed  and  scraped 
as  she  passed  through. 

Lilly  grew  more  and  more  hilarious  and  restrained  her 
laughter  wdth  difficulty. 

*  *  Before  the  next  customer  comes  you  must  go, ' '  she  said, 
**else  they'll  begin  to  think  something." 

**Why?"  he  asked.     **The  customers  change." 

But  Lilly  insisted,  whereupon  he  took  to  pleading. 

*' Listen,"  he  said.  **I  am  known  as  a  man  utterly  de- 
void of  moral  fibre.  Do  you  be  my  stay  in  this  mundane 
existence — at  least  until  the  door  opens  again.     While  I'm 


106  The  Song  of  Songs 

sitting  here  I  can  commit  no  follies,  and  that  must  convey 
some  consolation  to  your  charitable  heart.'* 

It  was  agreed,  therefore,  that  he  might  keep  his  place 
until  the  next  time  the  bell  rang.  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  comfortably  and  scanned  Lilly  with  the  tender  emo- 
tions of  unlimited  ownership. 

*'A11  earthly  ills  flow  from  garrulousness, ' '  he  began. 
**If  Columbus  had  just  kept  the  discovery  of  America  to 
himself  nobody  would  have  made  it  disagreeable  for  him. 
I  will  be  wilier.  I  will  consider  my  discovery  as  a  family 
secret  between  you  and  me.  What  a  feast  for  the  fellows  I 
Let  them  keep  to  the  moths  that  fly  at  twilight,  like  the 
two  prospective  art-shop  proprietresses,  to  whom  I  owe  the 
good  fortune  of  your  acquaintance.*' 

Lilly  had  completely  forgotten  the  sisters.  It  was  about 
time  for  them  to  be  coming  home.  Suppose  they  were  sud- 
denly to  open  the  door! 

The  bell  rang.  No,  it  wasn't  they.  It  was  a  spinster, 
who  daily  devoured  several  volumes  of  love  affairs,  and 
came  every  evening  for  fresh  fodder. 

The  blithe  lieutenant,  remembering  the  compact,  shot  up 
out  of  his  chair.  His  demeanour  stiffened  into  business- 
like coolness. 

**If  you  please,"  he  twanged,  **will  you  kindly  let  me 
have  the  latest  work  by — by — "  Evidently  no  German 
author  occurred  to  him.  After  racking  his  brain  the  delivr 
ering  name  came, '  *  by  Gerstacker. ' ' 

Lilly  brought  him  the  ** latest  work,"  which  bore  the 
date  1849.  He  deposited  the  requisite  three  marks,  and 
took  leave  with  too  sweeping  a  bow,  while  the  little  imps 
frolicked  between  his  silver-white  lids. 

Soon  after  the  sisters  came  home,  cast  a  suspicious  look 
at  Lilly's  flaming  cheeks,  and  passed  by  without  greeting 
her. 


The  Song  of  Songs  107 

The  next  day  went  after  the  fashion  of  every  other,  but 
Bomething  troubled  Ldlly,  something  like  Christmas  ex- 
pectations, a  premonitory  restlessness,  which  pressed  on  to  a 
new  life. 

And  behold!  At  the  same  time  as  the  day  before  the 
door  opened,  and  in  stepped  two  elegant  young  men,  who 
emitted  a  strident  **good  evening.*'  Their  manner  was 
both  a  bit  assured  and  a  bit  abashed  as  they  asked  for  *  *  an 
interesting  book/*  while  measuring  Lilly  with  the  stare  of 
a  connoisseur. 

She  felt  her  limbs  grow  heavy  and  rigid,  as  always  when 
conscious  of  being  observed  and  admired.  But  she  main- 
tained her  dignity,  and  when  the  young  gentlemen  after 
selecting  their  trash  (which  they  scarcely  glanced  at) 
wanted  to  start  up  a  bantering  conversation,  she  tossed  her 
head  and  withdrew  behind  the  bookcase  L  to  N,  which  shel- 
tered her  when  she  sat  at  the  window-sill  making  her  en- 
tries and  calculations. 

The  gentlemen  took  whispered  counsel  with  each  other, 
said  a  low  **good-by,**  and  beat  a  retreat. 

So  her  jolly  friend  had  betrayed  her  after  ail ! 

From  now  on  Mrs.  Asmussen's  poor  little  hole  of  a  li- 
brary swarmed  with  slim  young  men  of  fashion,  who  were 
driven  by  an  insatiable  desire  for  reading  to  exchange  one 
musty  old  volume  for  another. 

Only  a  few  dared  come  in  uniform,  but  they  did  not 
withhold  their  names,  and  the  last  page  ^f  the  customers' 
book  looked  as  if  extracted  from  an  Almanac  de  Gotha. 

Some  wrapped  themselves  in  a  coat  of  business-like  cor- 
rectness, others  came  with  careless  assurance  of  victory. 
One  man  began  to  make  love  on  the  spot,  and  another  even 
had  the  audacity  to  bandy  gross  language  over  the  counter 
The  naivest  one  condescendingly  inquired  when  within  the 
next  few  days  he  might  expect  a  visit  from  her. 


108  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  soon  came  to  see  that  these  attentions  neither  hon- 
oured nor  gave  hurt.  She  chatted  freely  with  those  who 
were  courteous,  refrained  from  replying  to  those  who  were 
impertinent,  and  the  instant  a  conversation  threatened  to 
become  lengthy  she  disappeared  behind  case  L  to  N. 

Within  a  few  days  the  sisters  had  discovered  the  aristo- 
cratic visitors. 

Their  rage  knew  no  bounds.  Decency  was  thrown  to 
the  winds.  Lilly  was  not  spared  a  single  insult,  a  single 
abuse.  Vile  epithets  such  as  she  had  never  heard  poured 
over  her  in  a  dirty  stream.  The  girls  demanded  that  she 
cede  her  place  at  the  counter  to  them.  She  refused  point 
blank,  whereupon  they  took  to  maltreating  her. 

On  occasions  of  greatest  need  Mrs.  Asmussen  came  to 
her  assistance.  The  broom  rained  blows  on  the  white  night- 
gowns of  the  jealous  furies,  and  drove  them  into  the  back 
room,  where  the  battle  was  drowned  in  rivers  of  tears. 

Hostilities  continued.  In  case  business  exigencies  neces- 
sitated some  self-restraint  during  the  day  while  customers 
were  present,  feelings  were  given  all  the  freer  play  in  the 
morning  and  evening. 

Lilly's  life  became  a  veritable  hell. 

A  crust  of  hate  and  bitterness  laid  itself  over  her  soul. 
Partly  in  fright,  partly  in  satisfaction  she  felt  herself  grow- 
ing harder  and  sharper.  It  was  only  at  night  that  she 
melted,  when  she  buried  her  burning  head  in  the  pillows 
and  gave  vent  to  her  misery  in  silent  weeping. 

The  merry  friend  with  the  white  lashes,  who  had  caused 
the  entire  catastrophe,  did  not  put  in  appearance  foi 
about  two  weeks.  He  came  in  dragging  his  legs  a  little, 
and  his  eyes  were  swollen  and  bleared. 

'^This  flower,''  he  said,  undoing  the  tissue  paper  of  the 
package  in  his  hand,  * '  is  the  picotee,  which  keeps  fresh  five 
or  six  days  longer  than  any  parting  pangs." 


The  Song  of  Songs  109 

At  the  sight  of  him  Lilly  felt  a  little  comforting  joy 
light  lip  within  her.  She  took  the  bouquet  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  reproached  him  for  not  having  kept  his 
mouth  shut. 

**I  told  you,"  he  replied  imperturbably,  **that  I  am  a 
man  utterly  devoid  of  moral  fibre." 

Then  he  informed  her  that  the  regiment  had  given  him 
a  farewell  dinner  for  good  and  all,  and  now  there  was 
nothing  more  urgent  for  him  to  do  than  secure  passage 
for  somewhere — if  he  only  knew  where. 

*'But  we  won't  scratch  our  heads  about  that/*  he  con- 
tinued. '*  Brilliant  people  such  as  you  and  I  have  brilliant 
careers.  The  path  of  my  life  leads  by  still  waters  of  cool 
champagne,  and  is  paved  with  little  meat  patties.  That's 
kismet.  No  use  struggling  against  it.  Even  if  it  finally 
leads  to  a  sugar-cane  plantation  in  Louisiana,  it's  all  the 
same  to  me.  One  always  comes  across  something  new, 
and  that's  the  main  thing.  For  the  present  the  old  man, 
who's  taken  a  tremendous  liking  to  me,  wants  me  to  run 
about  his  estate  as  Fritz  Triddelfitz. ' ' 

He  laughed  his  high-pitched,  almost  inaudible  laugh, 
which  shook  him  like  a  storm. 

Lilly  wanted  to  know  who  the  '*old  man"  was. 

That  a  person  should  have  to  ask  this  seemed  inconceiv- 
able to  him. 

**Have  you  the  least  idea  of  life,  if  you  don't  know  who 
the  old  man  is  ?  The  old  man  is  the  cat-o  '-nine-tails.  The 
old  man  decides  what  is  good  and  what  is  bad  on  earth. 
The  old  man  breaks  one  man 's  neck  and  pays  another  man 's 
debts.  He  is  the  punch  bowl  of  all  our  virtues  and  all  ou'' 
sins.  Withal  the  old  man  is  eternally  young.  The  old 
man  sees  you  and  says  to  you:  'Come  here,  little  girl. 
I  'm  a  grey  old  horror,  but  I  wish  to  have  you. '  Then  you 
have  just  enough  courage  left  to  ask  'When  do  you  want 


110  The  Song  of  Songs 

me,  high  and  mighty  lordT  You  see,  child,  that's  the  old 
man.  They  hist  him  on  to  you  long  ago,  and  if  ever  he 
should  find  his  way  to  you,  then  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  you !  Then  all's  over  and  done  for  with  my  poor  young 
queen." 

**But  I  don't  know  yet  who  the  old  man  is,"  said  Lilly, 
whom  this  enigmatic  alarum  was  beginning  to  make  a  little 
uncomfortable. 

**Then  don't  ask,"  he  replied,  and  held  out  his  freckled 
hand  in  good-by.  **It's  a  pity  for  us  two,"  he  added, 
smiling  at  her  tenderly  and  compassionately  from  between 
his  blinking  lids.  **We  could  so  cosily  have  enriched 
history  with  another  famous  pair  of  lovers."  Leaning  far 
over  the  counter,  **  Since  I  am  a  man  utterly  devoid  of 
moral  fibre,  I  should  like  to  bestow  one  kiss  upon  you  be- 
fore I  go." 

Lilly  laughingly  held  her  mouth  up. 

He  kissed  her  and  walked  to  the  door  stiffly. 

**I  can  scarcely  crawl,  I'm  so  knocked  up  by  my  bout," 
he  said,  and  with  that  was  outside  the  door. 

After  this  visit  Lilly  was  seized  with  the  same  disquiet- 
ing sense  as  after  his  first  visit.  It  seemed  to  her  she  was 
being  flicked  in  sport  with  tickling  switches.  But  this 
time,  joined  to  the  other  feeling,  was  a  certain  anxiety 
which  set  her  nerves  a-tingle  with  a  tormenting  yet  sooth- 
ing sensation,  as  if  she  were  waiting  outside  a  locked  door 
of  gold,  behind  which  an  unknown  fate  was  crouching  ready 
to  pounce  on  her. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Outside  on  the  street  the  hilt  of  a  sword  and  the  buttons 
of  a  uniform  glittered  in  the  noon  sunlight  of  a  December 
day. 

**A  new  one/'  thought  Lilly.  The  stiff,  thickset  figure 
of  the  man  who  clanked  up  the  steps  of  the  porch  was  un- 
familiar to  her. 

A  masterful  stamping  outside  the  door.  The  bell  rang 
more  sharply  than  usual. 

No,  she  did  not  know  him.  He  was  not  a  frivolous  lieu- 
tenant, nor  yet  one  of  the  maturer  ones,  who  played  the 
dignified  and  watched  with  an  expectant  smile  for  the  first 
shy  glance  in  order  to  extract  from  it  whatever  they 
dared. 

She  saw  eyes  piercing  sharp  as  a  falcon's  with  a  close 
ring  of  mobile  crows'  feet  about  them;  she  saw  a  severe 
high-bridged  aquiline  nose,  and  gaunt  cheek  bones  on  which 
lay  a  well-defined  spot  of  red  finely  chased  with  purple 
veins.  Under  a  short,  bushy  moustache  she  saw  thin,  com- 
pressed lips,  the  corners  of  which  turned  up  in  a  smile  of 
mocking  benevolence.  She  saw  a  receding  chin,  polished 
to  a  shine  by  the  shave,  and  disappearing  in  two  limp  folds 
near  the  high  collar. 

She  saw  all  this  as  in  a  dream.  Her  heart  began  to 
throb  so  violently  that  she  had  to  lean  against  the  book- 
case. 

**Why,  this  is  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  a  voice  within  her 
spoke.     "This  is  the  old  man." 

Ill 


112  The  Song  of  Songs 

He  raised  his  hand  carelessly  to  his  cap,  but  did  not 
think  of  removing  it. 

**  Colonel  von  Mertzbach/'  he  said  in  a  voice  whose  rough 
intonations  spread  a  whole  world  of  authoritative  power 
before  her.  *  *  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  a  few  min- 
utes.    I  have  reasons  for  wishing  to  know  you. ' ' 

Lilly  felt  she  was  to  be  subjected  to  a  humiliating  ex- 
amination, which  she  was  by  no  means  in  duty  bound  to 
suffer.  But  never  in  her  life  had  she  seemed  so  defence- 
less as  at  that  moment.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  standing 
in  the  presence  of  a  judge  who  had  the  right  to  pardon  or 
condemn  entirely  at  his  own  discretion. 

Her  lips  trembled  as  she  stammered  something  meant  to 
express  consent. 

*'You  seem  to  be  an  extremely  dangerous  young  woman,'' 
he  said.  **Why,  you've  fairly  crazed  my  men,  especially 
the  younger  ones — there 's  no  managing  them. ' ' 

''I  don't  understand,"  replied  Lilly,  summoning  all  her 
courage. 

He  uttered  *'h'm,"  stuck  a  monocle  in  his  eye,  and 
looked  her  up  and  down,  or  rather  looked  down  to  the  point 
where  the  top  of  the  counter  cut  her  figure  off.  Then  he 
uttered  another  *^h'm,"  and  observed: 

**It's  very  easy  to  play  the  innocent  in  cases  like  this. 
However  that  may  be,  I  can  thoroughly  comprehend  my 
young  men.  Probably  I  myself  should  not  have  behaved 
differently.  But  it  seems  that  despite  your  youth  and — 
inexperience,  you  possess  a  very  respectable  amount  of 
feminine  cunning,  otherwise  you  would  not  have  succeeded, 
in  spite  of  your  irreproachably  reserved  manner — or,  per- 
haps, just  because  of  your  manner — you  would  not  have 
succeeded,  I  say,  in  bringing  the  young  men  here  on  re- 
peated visits — they  are  somewhat  fastidious. ' ' 

Lilly  felt  the  tears  rising.    It  would  have  been  easy  to 


Tiie  Song  of  Songs  113 

repudiate  the  insults  he  offered  her ;  but  from  where  derive 
the  strength  to  oppose  a  word  in  defence  to  this  man  whose 
eyes  disrobed  her  and  drilled  her  through  and  through, 
whose  smile  held  her  in  a  wire  net  ? 

So  she  sat  down  and  cried. 

He,  in  his  turn,  rose  from  his  seat  and  stepped  close  to 
the  counter. 

*'How  deeply  your  sense  of  honour  has  been  wounded  I 
cannot  say  offhand.  At  any  rate,  it  is  not  my  intention 
to  make  you  cry.  On  the  contrary,  I  should  like  you  to 
give  me  with  the  utmost  composure  possible  a  little  infor- 
mation which  will  enlighten  me  and  which  may  be  of  some 
importance  for  your  future. '  * 

Lilly  was  conscious  of  only  one  thought:  **You  must 
pull  youself  together  because  he  wants  you  to.  *  * 

She  wiped  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  obediently,  sniJB* 
fling  a  little,  as  when  she  had  been  scolded  in  her  childhood. 

He  asked  her  name,  where  she  had  been  born,  where  her 
parents  were,  what  school  she  had  attended,  and  what  she 
was  doing  in  the  library.  At  the  mention  of  her  guardian's 
name  an  ironic  smile  passed  over  his  face. 

*  *  I  know  the  gentleman 's  views,  * '  he  said.  * '  So,  in  short, 
you  have  been  left  absolutely  alone  in  the  world  1 ' ' 

Lilly  assented. 

**And  it  would  not  be  disagreeable  to  you  to  have  some 
mainstay — to  know  someone  to  whom  you  could  turn  in 
moments  of  need?" 

*  *  Where  is  a  person  like  that  to  come  from  ? " 

**Let  me  think  it  over  at  leisure,"  he  said,  wrinkling  his 
forehead.  **In  any  case,  you  cannot  remain  in  this  hole. 
Do  they  treat  you  well  here  at  least?" 

*'0h,  tolerably,"  said  Lilly,  and  added  between  laughter 
and  tears,  **Only — the  food  is  bad  and  sometimes  I  get — " 
she  was  going  to  say  ''beaten,"  but  was  ashamed  to,  and 


114  The  Song  of  Songs 

substituted  ** punished,"  which  was  a  perversion  of  the 
truth. 

The  colonel  burst  into  a  laugh  that  sounded  like  the 
crack  of  a  whip. 

**Very  commendable  in  you  to  take  the  matter  humor- 
ously," he  said,  and  rose  to  go.  ''Well,  I  know  what  I 
wanted  to  know.  My  men  may  continue  to  come  to  you — 
in  uniform,  in  civilian's  clothes,  whichever  way  they  want. 
They  will  find  no  more  irreproachable  company  among  the 
young  ladies  of  this  town.  Should  they  ever  forget  their 
manners,  just  drop  me  a  line.  But  I  am  sure  they  won't. 
Good  afternoon,  Miss  Czepanek." 

Lilly  watched  him  walk  across  the  porch  with  the  jerky, 
springy  strut  of  an  old  cavalry  man.  The  wintry  sun 
seemed  to  be  shining  for  the  sole  purpose  of  casting  a  danc- 
fng  radiance  about  his  figure. 

When  he  reached  the  pavement  he  turned  to  her  win- 
dow and  lifted  his  cap  slightly  but  respectfully.  The  eyes 
behind  the  lowering  brows  pierced  hers,  searching,  almost 
threatening.     Then  he  passed  out  of  sight. 

Lilly 's  soul  was  assailed  by  a  tumult  of  questions : 

''What  was  it?  What  was  expected  of  her?  Why 
wasn  't  she  let  alone  ? ' ' 

She  wanted  to  cry,  wanted  to  pour  out  complaints  and 
feel  herself  pitied.  But  her  trouble  had  a  certain  festal 
tinge,  a  certain  shadowyness  and  unreality.  She  bedizened 
herself  with  it  as  with  a  new  hope,  and  what  he  had  said 
about  some  one  to  whom  she  could  turn  in  moments  of  need 
re-echoed  in  her  soul  like  a  soothing,  easing  melody.  Didn  't 
it  seem  almost  as  if  he  himself  wished  to  be  the  mainstay 
so  sorely  lacking  in  her  floundering  young  life  ? 

Perhaps  he  would  get  Mr.  Pieper,  who  did  not  concern 
himself  about  her  at  any  rate,  to  give  up  his  guardianship 


The  KSong  of  Songs  115 

over  Lilly.    Or,  perhaps  the  colonel  might  even  adopt  her, 
or  something  like  that.     There  was  no  knowing. 

If  only  there  had  not  been  those  dagger  eyes,  that  amused 
laugh,  and  that  evil,  evil  look  at  the  end,  and  above  all 
her  friend's  warning:  '*If  ever  he  should  find  his  way  to 
you,  then  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  you ! '  * 

However,  for  all  that,  what  could  possibly  happen  to 
her  behind  the  counter?  Nobody  had  ever  dared  to  raise 
the  drop  leaf  and  pass  through.  And  surely  she  was  safe 
behind  the  bookcase  L  to  N,  where  she  could  not  even  be 
seen. 

The  coloners  visit  seemed  to  have  acted  like  a  cold 
douche  on  his  men,  despite — or,  perhaps,  on  account  of — 
the  guarantee  he  had  given  for  their  good  behaviour.  Not 
one  of  them  came  to  visit  her  again. 

**Is  that  a  sign  of  the  protection  he  is  to  favour  me 
with?''  Lilly  wondered. 

Something  was  missing,  she  did  not  know  what. 

A  week  passed,  and  one  day  the  younger  sister,  who  held 
watch  every  morning  for  possible  billets-doux,  threw  an 
envelope  at  Lilly's  feet,  saying: 

**  Something  else  again,  with  a  coronet  on  it,  you  flirt, 
youl" 

** Flirt"  was  one  of  the  milder  titles  of  honour  that  the 
sisters  lavished  upon  her. 

Lilly  opened  the  letter  and  read : 

**My  dear  Miss  Czepanek: — 

Remembering  the  interview  that  took  place  between  us 
recently,  I  take  the  liberty  of  making  a  proposition  to  you. 
The  position  of  private  secretary  and  reader  with  me  is 
open.  Would  you  be  inclined  to  accept  it?  Since  I  am 
an  unmarried  man,  it  would  be  in  better  form  for  you  not 


116  The  Song  of  Songs 

to  live  in  my  house,  but  I  pledge  myself  to  provide  for 
your  maintenance  in  a  suitable  and  respectable  family. 
Your  guardian,  whom  I  took  the  opportunity  to  consult  in 
the  matter,  has  given  his  consent  to  the  plan. 
**  Respectfully  yours^ 

*■  Freiherr  von  Mertzbach, 
'*'  Colonel  and  Commander  of  the Regiment  of  Ulans.'' 

So  here  it  was — her  fate ! 

It  was  there,  on  the  other  side  of  the  gleaming  snowy 
street,  beckoning  and  calling  to  her : 

**Come  out  of  your  hole.  I  will  show  you  life.  I  will 
show  you  something  new. '  * 

But  then  she  pictured  herself  sitting  at  the  coloneFs 
great  desk  writing  at  his  dictation.  She  saw  his  eyes  drill- 
ing her,  searching  her  soul,  and  threatening,  always  threat- 
ening. The  pen  would  fall  from  her  fingers,  she  would 
have  to  jump  up  and  run  away,  but  she  would  not  be  able 
to ;  the  eyes  would  hold  her  in  a  spell. 

So  Lilly  sat  down  and  wrote  a  very  correct  letter  declin- 
ing his  proposition.  She  fully  appreciated,  she  said,  the 
honour  he  did  her,  but  she  felt  she  was  not  qualified  to  as- 
sume so  difficult  a  position,  and  she  thought  that  even  if 
she  was  not  so  well  off  she  did  better  by  remaining  in  her 
modest  situation,  since  she  could  fulfil  the  duties  it  in- 
volved.    **Yery  gratefully  yours,  Lilly  Czepanek.'* 

Done !  Peace  at  last  restored — as  much  peace  as  the  bad 
sisters  permitted. 

Christmas  was  drawing  near.  It  cannot  be  stated  with 
accuracy  that  the  preparations  in  the  Asmussen  household 
produced  an  atmosphere  of  mirth. 

For  weeks  Mrs.  Asmussen  had  been  sighing  over  the  bad 
times  and  the  nuisance  of  having  to  give  everybody  in  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  117 

world  a  gift.  The  sisters  discussed  as  frequently  and  as 
loudly  as  possible  the  question  whether  it  was  necessary 
for  refined  and  aristocratic  young  ladies  to  share  a  Christ- 
mas tree  with  low  and  vulgar  hussies.  There  was  no  indi- 
cation whatsoever  of  those  gladsome  mysteries  that  at  this 
time  brighten  the  saddest  of  human  habitations. 

Lilly  knitted  a  brown  sweater  for  her  mother,  bought 
her  two  picture  puzzles,  a  box  of  sweets,  and  a  wooden 
vase  for  flowers — objects  of  china,  being  breakable,  were 
not  desired — and  sent  them  to  the  asylum. 

At  this  time  her  thoughts  frequently  wandered  from  her 
mother  to  her  father,  who  had  now  been  gone  four  and  a 
half  years,  and  in  that  time  had  given  no  sign  of  his  ex- 
istence. 

In  the  forlorn  condition  she  was  in,  her  confidence  in  his 
return  waxed  strong.  Christmas  eve,  about  six  or  seven> 
he  would  suddenly  enter,  snow  covering  his  havelock,  and 
draw  her  into  his  embrace  with  that  demonstrative  ardour 
peculiar  to  him.  She  almost  breathed  in  the  fragrance  al- 
ways streaming  from  his  anointed  locks.  That  was  one 
way.  Another  was,  a  servant  would  bring  a  little  package 
as  a  preliminary  greeting.  Inside  would  be  costly  ma- 
terial for  a  dress.  A  hat  would  come,  too.  She  needed  it 
badly. 

After  the  others  had  gone  to  sleep  she  would  fetch  from 
the  bottom  of  her  trunk  the  score  of  the  Song  of  Songs 
and  softly  hum  the  more  beautiful  arias. 

There  were  some  passages  which  always  made  her  cry. 
Oh,  she  cried  a  great  deal  these  nights.  Yet  at  this  very 
period  a  tiny,  hesitating  sense  of  happiness  found  its  way 
into  her  being. 

It  was  a  lovely,  dreamy  feeling  of  being  lifted  up,  of 
growing  wings,  of  astonished  listening  to  inner  voices,  which 


118  The  Song  of  Songs 

sounded  sweet  and  familiar  as  words  from  a  mother  *s  lips, 
yet  strange,  like  a  gospel  from  the  mouth  of  one  who  was 
still  to  come. 

Now  and  then  she  found  herself  kneeling  in  her  night- 
gown, but  not  praying,  merely  dreaming,  with  arms  out- 
spread and  rapturous  eyes  raised  to  the  lamp,  as  if  the 
salvation  she  was  awaiting  would  approach  from  somewhere 
up  there. 

Thus,  after  all,  she  celebrated  Christmas  in  the  quiet  of 
her  soul. 

Christmas  eve  was  at  hand. 

At  the  eleventh  hour  a  few  gifts  were  scraped  together. 
The  sisters  ran  about  like  wild  animals  making  their  prep- 
arations. They  even  bestowed  a  few  kindly  words  on  Lilly, 
who  showed  her  gratitude  by  winking  when  the  older  sis- 
ter had  to  look  for  something  near  the  cash  box.  Lilly 
knew  there  was  not  much  inside,  and  should  anything  be 
missing  later  she  would  replace  it  from  her  own  funds. 

A  few  minutes  before  suppertime  she  was  summoned  to 
the  back  room,  where  the  Christmas  tree  was  already  lit. 
The  company  was  embarrassed. 

The  sisters  held  out  their  hands.  Mrs.  Asmussen,  who 
was  already  sitting  over  her  medicine  glass,  delivered  a  few 
dignified  words  about  the  significance  of  Christmas  in  gen- 
eral and  her  misfortune  in  particular  in  having  to  forego 
the  company  of  so  splendid  a  husband  on  such  an  occasion. 

Then  everybody  asked  everybody  else's  pardon  because 
the  presents  were  not  more  munificent.  First  of  all,  there 
had  been  a  "must,"  which  ought  not  to  exist  for  refined 
souls,  and  which  at  first  caused  great  chagrin.  Then  all  of 
a  sudden  time  had  grown  short.  Besides,  the  apron  with 
the  red  edge  was  very  decent — they  themselves  had  long 
been  wanting  one  like  it — and  the  pen-wiper  was  not  to  be 
despised,  either.    Above  all,  business  h^d  heexx  l?a4 


The  Song  of  Songs  119 

'*I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  have  nothing  at  all  to  give," 
Lilly  answered.  But  what  she  was  most  ashamed  of  was 
that  she  now  felt  kindly  disposed  toward  the  sisters. 

*'I  haven't  a  bit  of  character,"  she  thought,  as  she  bit 
into  the  marchpane  which  the  older,  the  wickeder  one,  of- 
fered her. 

The  library  bell  rang.  A  lackey  loaded  with  parcels 
stumbled  in  and  asked: 

**Does  Miss  Czepanek  live  here?" 

Lilly's  heart  leapt, 

**From  papa — actually  from  papa!"  she  rejoiced. 

For  a  few  moments  she  scarcely  dared  touch  the  pack- 
ages. She  ran  about  the  room  helplessly  passing  her  hands 
over  her  hair.  She  did  not  venture  to  undo  the  cords  until 
urged  on  by  the  sisters.  They  stood  next  to  her,  staring 
with  great,  greedy  eyes. 

The  things  those  boxes  contained!  A  light  cloth  dress 
trimmed  with  lace,  a  delicate  foulard  dress,  a  pink  silk  pet- 
ticoat, black  patent  leather  and  tan  shoes,  six  pairs  of  glace 
and  undressed  kid  gloves,  some  of  them  elbow  length,  three 
kinds  of  collars,  a  fichu  of  Valenciennes  lace  to  wear  with 
empire  gowns,  books,  writing  paper,  conserved  fruit,  and 
more  things,  and  still  more,  many  more — the  boxes  seemed 
bottomless.  Even  the  hat  she  had  hankered  for  was  there, 
a  simple  shepherdess  shape  of  light  grey  felt,  which  shape 
had  always  been  most  becoming  to  the  grand  style  of  her 
features.  It  was  trimmed  with  light  brown  ribbons  and 
silver-tipped  pompons. 

A  veritable  trousseau ! 

The  sisters  began  to  pull  long  faces.  Lilly,  too,  soon 
ceased  to  rejoice.  She  was  full  of  apprehension.  All  she 
wanted  now  was  to  find  a  letter,  a  card,  some  token  of  the 
sender's  personality,  which  surely  accompanied  the  gifts. 
She  groped  for  it  nervously.     Though  she  had  long  given 


120  *rhe  Song  of  Songs 

up  all  thought  of  her  father  and  his  return,  an  instinct  of 
self-preservation  impelled  her  to  pretend  in  the  sisters' 
presence  that  it  was  he,  and  only  he,  who  had  poured  this 
flood  of  treasures  over  her. 

At  last — underneath  the  gloves — she  found  an  envelope 
and  ran  off  to  the  library  with  it. 

There  beneath  the  hanging  lamp  she  drew  out  a  visiting 
card  and  paled  with  fright  as  she  read: 

**Freiherr  von  Mertzbaeh,  Colonel  and  Commander  of 

the Regiment  of  Ulans,"  followed  by  a  few  lines  in 

the  heavy,  bold  strokes  with  which  she  was  acquainted: 
'*from  the  depths  of  his  own  loneliness  wishes  his  lonely 
little  friend  an  hour  of  Christmas  joy.'* 

She  returned  to  the  back  room,  where  the  sisters,  green 
with  envy,  received  her  with  a  chilly  smile,  while  Mrs. 
Asmussen,  nodding  over  the  steaming  glass,  dropped  frag- 
ments of  mysterious  words. 

**The  things  actually  do  come  from  papa,''  said  Lilly, 
amazed  at  the  strange,  stifled,  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

The  sisters  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  silently  began  to  put 
the  gifts  back  into  the  boxes. 

Lilly  was  holding  a  little  porcelain  bon-bon  dish  filled 
with  fragrant,  odd-looking  confections.  She  glanced  hesi- 
tatingly from  one  sister  to  the  other  without  daring  to  of- 
fer them  the  sweets  for  fear  of  being  repulsed  with  some 
abusive  word  or  other.  She  set  the  lid — a  little  rose- 
wreathed  Cupid — back  on  the  delicately  cut  rim,  let  the 
dish  sink  down  among  the  other  gifts  in  one  of  the  boxes, 
crawled  to  the  corner  where  she  slept,  and  cried  bitterly. 

The  sisters  whispered  together  a  long  time.  They  built 
a  pyramid  of  the  boxes  on  the  counter  and  passed  by  it  at 
a  respectful  distance. 

The  next  morning  Lilly  summoned  a  porter  from  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  121 

street  and  returned  everything  to  the  donor  without  a  word 
of  explanation. 

Then  she  went  to  the  sisters  and  said : 

**I  didn't  tell  you  the  truth  yesterday.  The  gifts  did 
not  come  from  papa.     So  I  returned  them." 

The  sisters,  who  had  come  toward  her  with  a  sweet-sour 
air  of  attentiveness,  made  no  effort  to  conceal  their  disillu- 
sionment. 

**Well,  I  didn't  take  her  for  such  a  muff!*'  said  the 
younger. 

*' She's  not,"  said  the  older  sarcastically,  who,  true  to 
her  nature,  scented  an  arriere  pensSe,  *'0n  the  contrary 
she's  particularly  calculating — wants  to  drive  her  adorer 
still  madder.  I  hope  she  doesn't  get  stuck  at  her  own 
game.  Even  the  blindest  mortal  soon  comes  to  know  the 
difference  between  false  and  genuine  worth. ' ' 

Therewith,  in  order  to  furnish  on  the  spot  an  example 
of  the  genuine  quality,  she  drew  her  petticoat  tight  about 
her  legs  with  her  left  hand  and  with  her  right  hand  gath- 
ered her  matinee  close  under  her  bosom,  and  sent  Lilly  a 
smile  of  utter  contempt  from  over  her  shoulder,  such  a 
smile  as  only  lofty  souls  can  summon  on  occasion. 

Nevertheless,  Lilly  noticed  that  from  now  on  she  was 
treated  with  a  certain  heedfulness,  from  which  she  deduced 
that  something  was  still  expected  of  her. 

During  the  next  few  days  nothing  of  importance  oc- 
curred, though  the  day  after  Christmas  a  few  of  the  young 
gentlemen  had  put  in  appearance  again.  Their  man- 
ner was  jerky  as  they  exchanged  their  books,  they  outdid 
themselves  in  politeness  and  they  showed  no  disposition  to 
make  themselves  at  home  on  chair  or  counter. 

Then — the  day  before  New  Year — Lilly  received  this  let- 
ter: 


122  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Dear  Miss  Czepanek: — 

You  shamefully  mistook  the  motives  that  led  me  to  send 
you  those  Christmas  gifts.  I  feel  I  must  justify  myself 
and  bring  about  a  perfect  understanding  between  us.  I 
have  plans  concerning  you  which  I  should  like  to  set  before 
you  personally,  but  my  position  forbids  my  visiting  you 
repeatedly,  and  I  would  ask  you,  if  your  future  is  dear  to 
you,  to  come  to  my  house  to-morrow  evening.  I  shall  ex- 
pect you  some  time  before  eight.  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  for  your  safe  return.  Yours, 

Mertzbach." 

To  go  or  not  to  go. 

That  night  Lilly  did  not  sleep  a  wink. 

If  only  the  feeling  of  dread  had  not  obsessed  her,  dread 
which  robbed  her  of  breath  and  the  power  to  defend  her- 
self. If  the  mere  thought  of  him  brought  it  on,  what  would 
become  of  her  should  she  stand  before  him  face  to  face  1 

She  finally  decided  not  to  go,  while  she  knew  for  a  cer- 
tainty she  was  going. 

She  lived  through  the  day  as  in  a  dull  dream,. 

In  the  afternoon  she  obtained  permission  from  Mrs.  As- 
mussen  to  attend  New  Year 's  eve  service.  The  sisters,  who 
spied  upon  her  every  movement,  exchanged  significant 
looks,  but  seemed  too  preoccupied  with  their  own  affairs  to 
give  hers  their  usual  sweet  attention. 

Lilly  donned  the  old  felt  hat  which  many  a  storm  had 
buffeted  and  many  a  shower  discoloured.  Her  winter  coat 
made  her  look  narrow  shouldered,  and  tug  as  she  would, 
the  sleeves  refused  to  reach  her  wrists. 

If  she  had  had  her  wits  about  her  she  would  have  been 
much  too  ashamed  to  show  herself  before  so  aristocratic  a 
gentleman  in  that  garb.  But  she  was  driven  to  her  acts  by 
something  outside  herself,  not  by  her  own  volition. 
Strange,  mysterious  powers  seemed  to  be  pushing  her,  in- 


The  Song  of  Songs  123 

visible  hands  to  be  helping  her  dress,  smoothing  her  hair 
lower  on  her  forehead,  raising  the  arch  of  her  brows,  and 
opening  the  buttons  at  her  throat  to  give  her  constricted 
chest  the  freedom  of  its  young  fullness.  They  rubbed  her 
cheeks,  pale  from  lack  of  sleep,  until  they  glowed  with 
a  triumphant  red. 

When  she  reached  the  street  and  the  frosty  breath  of  the 
winter  evening  stroked  her  gently,  she  felt  she  was  wak- 
ing up  at  last. 

** Where  are  you  going?*'  a  voice  within  her  asked. 

*  *  Perhaps  to  St.  Joseph,  * '  she  answered  evasively. 

But  she  did  not  go  to  St.  Joseph.  She  made  a  wide 
detour  about  St.  Anne*s,  crossed  the  Altmarkt  diagonally, 
saw  the  sisters  sitting  at  Frangipani's  in  the  company  of 
two  admirers,  with  difficulty  avoided  the  assiduities  of  a 
gallant,  and  suddenly  found  herself  in  front  of  the  latticed 
gateway  behind  which,  four  flights  up,  the  sewing  machine 
had  rattled  and  clattered  the  last  remnant  of  reason  out  of 
her  poor,  ruined  mother's  head. 

Light  was  shining  from  the  two  dormer  windows  up  there 
where  Lilly  had  once  lived. 

Some  one  else  was  probably  sitting  there  now,  sewing 
shirts  and  drawers  and  nightgowns,  day  and  night,  night 
and  day.  Lilly,  too,  would  be  sitting  there  some  day,  bit- 
terly ruing  her  lost  youth  as  one  regrets  an  act  of  criminal 
folly. 

**If  your  future  is  dear  to  you,*'  he  had  written. 

She  faced  about  abruptly,  and  ran — ran — ran — without 
coming  to  a  stop  until  she  reached  the  lighted  house,  in 
front  of  which  a  sentinel  was  pacing  and  freezing  as  he 
kept  guard  over  the  highest  dignitary  in  the  city. 

'* Where  are  you  going?"  the  voice  within  her  asked 
again. 

To  avoid  answering,  she  rushed  up  the  wide  carpeted 


124  The  Song  of  Songs 

stairway  and  came  upon  a  lackey  in  silver-striped  knicker- 
bockers, who  without  question  quietly  relieved  her  of  her 
umbrella,  while  the  shadow  of  a  mischievous  smile  flickered 
across  his  pudding  face. 

High  white  doors  were  held  open  for  her,  red-shaded 
lamps  shone  like  great  flowers,  beautiful  bare-shouldered 
women  with  tiaras  in  their  hair  smiled  down  on  her  from 
oval  gilt  frames. 

It  was  so  silent  and  warm  in  the  spacious  rooms  you 
could  lie  down  on  the  soft  carpet  and  go  to  sleep.  If  only 
there  had  not  been  that  feeling  of  dread  which  was  tight- 
ening about  her  throat  and  brow  like  a  net  drawn  closer 
and  closer. 

Another  door  flew  open.  Beyond  was  green  twilight,  as 
in  a  thick  forest,  and  from  out  of  the  twilight  his  figure 
eame  toward  her,  broad,  resplendent,  clanking.  She  felt 
her  hand  being  taken,  felt  herself  being  led  into  the  green 
dusk.  Bookcases  towered  before  her  like  black  walls. 
From  somewhere  came  the  threatening  glitter  of  swords, 
helmets  and  armour. 

She  did  not  dare  look  at  him.  Even  after  she  had 
been  seated  in  a  tall,  dark  armchair,  whose  top  hung  over 
her  head  like  a  canopy,  she  had  not  given  him  a  single 
glance. 

She  heard  his  voice,  whose  resounding  roughness  seemed 
to  have  been  muffled  to  vibrating  organ  tones. 

It  was  all  unearthly,  all  that  she  perceived  and  felt.  It 
was  not  heaven,  it  was  not  hell.  It  was  a  region  of  anxiety 
and  dreams,  where  souls  hovered  between  deprivation  and 
fulfillment  in  a  state  of  lethargy. 

At  last  she  understood  his  words.  There  was  nothing 
unearthly  about  them.  They  dealt  most  rationally  with  the 
Christmas  gifts,  the  return  of  which  he  did  not  consider 
final.     They  were  securely  stowed  away  biding  the  time 


The  Song  of  Songs  125 

when  their  mistress  would  graciously  deign  to  receive  them. 

Lilly  with  a  frozen  smile  on  her  lips  merely  shook  her 
head.  She  could  not  summon  the  courage  to  voice  a  re- 
fusal. 

*'And  now  you  will  ask  me,  my  dear,"  he  began  anew, 
*'what  impels  me,  a  man  advancing  in  years,  to  hang  on  to 
your  skirts  like  a  pertinacious  lover. ' ' 

At  the  words,  ''advancing  in  years,"  she  looked  up  in- 
stinctively. 

There  he  sat,  too  sharply  illuminated  by  the  light  of  the 
green  student's  lamp.  The  orders  on  his  breast  gave  out  a 
subdued,  golden  lustre.  The  silver  tassels  of  his  epaulets 
quivered  and  glittered  like  little  snakes.  There  was  a  shim- 
mer upon  and  around  him  like  the  halo  about  a  saint  in 
gold  and  brocade. 

Confused  and  abashed  by  all  this  glory  Lilly  quickly  sank 
her  gaze  again. 

**I  went  to  you  that  time,"  he  continued,  ''because  a  dis- 
pute had  broken  out  among  some  of  my  younger  men,  of 
which  you  were  the  subject.  The  matter  promised  to  take 
a  dangerous  turn  and  it  had  to  be  adjusted.  I  expected  to 
find  a  pert,  coquettish  little  shop  girl,  and  I  found — well,  I 
found — you.  Now  you  will  ask  what  I  mean  by  'you,'  be- 
cause you  yourself  cannot  possibly  be  aware  of  your  good 
points,  or,  rather,  your  potentialities — everything  in  you  is 
still  in  process  of  becoming.  I  am  what  they  call  a  connois- 
seur in  women,  my  child,  and  behind  that  which  you  are  to- 
day, I  see  that  which  you  will  be  some  future  day, 
if — this  'if  is  the  main  thing — if  the  opportunity  is  af- 
forded you  for  proper  development.  You  might  go  to  ruin 
among  your  old  books.  In  case  you  have  the  courage  to  en- 
trust your  fate  to  my  hands,  I  should  like  to  assume  the 
care  of  directing  your  life  into  fitting  channels." 

That  sounded  composed  and  paternal. 


126  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  felt  herself  breathing  easier,  experienced  a  little  re- 
laxing hopefulness.  She  ventured  to  raise  her  look  once 
more,  and  beyond  the  gold  and  silver  dazzle  she  saw  a  pair 
of  brilliant  glassy  eyes,  which  had  lost  their  sharpness  and 
were  fairly  forcing  themselves  on  her  with  a  mighty,  greedy 
questioning.  The  shuddering  and  stiffening  came  upon  her 
anew.  She  sat  there  motionless  with  paralysed  will,  while 
she  thought : 

' '  Of  what  avail  1  He  will  do  whatever  he  wants  with  me 
at  any  rate.** 

He  went  on. 

**I  own  a  beautiful  old  estate,  Lischnitz,  in  West  Prus- 
sia, near  the  Vistula,  to  which  my  duties  prevent  me  from 
going  frequently.  My  household  there  is  managed  by  a 
middle-aged  aristocratic  lady,  Miss  von  Schwertfeger — but 
her  name 's  immaterial.  If  you  were  to  go  there  she  would 
receive  you  with  open  arms,  I  promise  you  that,  and  you 
would  have  an  opportunity  to  develop  under  the  most  fa- 
vourable conditions  into  the  woman  I  already  foresee  in  you. 
Your  problems  for  the  time  being  would  be  solved,  and  I 
should  benefit  by  finding  my  home,  when  I  visit  it,  lighted 
by  a  ray  of  youth  and  beauty. '  * 

He  had  risen  and  in  his  eagerness  to  persuade  began  to 
pace  about  her  with  short  see-sawing  steps.  Each  time  he 
moved  there  was  a  clinking  and  jingling  like  delicate  dance 
music  played  on  small  bells.  Finally  all  she  heard  was  this 
metallic  ringing,  and  she  no  longer  understood  what  he 
said. 

She  pressed  against  the  back  of  her  chair  with  an  indis- 
tinct feeling  that  he  was  tying  her  with  cords,  packing  her 
up,  and  carrying  her  off  to  some  spot  where  no  rescuer  could 
hear  her  cries  of  distress.  She  knew  she  would  not  offer 
the  least  resistance,  so  completely  was  she  in  his  power. 

"Look  at  me/'  he  said. 


The  Song  of  Songs  127 

She  wanted  to  obey,  certainly — oh,  she  was  so  obedient! 
But  she  could  not. 

He  put  a  finger  under  her  chin  and  shoved  her  head  back. 
She  kept  her  eyes  almost  closed  and  saw  nothing  except  the 
red  border  of  his  military  coat. 

Suddenly  she  felt  herself  sinking.  The  red  border 
mounted  to  the  ceiling,  bees  buzzed  about  her  ears — then 
nothing. 

When  she  came  to,  something  cold  and  wet  was  lying  on 
her  breast,  and  a  woman 's  clothes  smelling  of  smoke  grazed 
her  cheek. 

The  green  twilight  was  still  there. 

A  breastplate  was  hanging  in  front  of  her.  It  looked  like 
a  brightly  scoured  kettle.     » 

She  did  not  dare  move,  she  felt  so  comfortable  and  easy. 

A  rough,  bony  hand  kept  chafing  her  forehead  and  a 
kindly  voice  repeated  two  or  three  times  in  succession : 

''Poor  little  thing!     Poor  little  thing!     So  young!'' 

After  a  time  Lilly  could  not  help  giving  a  sign  of  con- 
sciousness, and  the  instant  she  stirred  a  sure  arm  came  to 
the  support  of  her  head,  and  the  kindly  voice  asked,  was 
she  feeling  better  and  did  she  want  anything?'* 

**I  want  to  go  home.'' 

**Not  so  easily  done,"  said  the  voice,  ** because  he  gave 
orders  that  he  wanted  to  speak  to  you  again.  But  if 
you'll  take  a  good  piece  of  advice,  say  'much  obliged,'  and 
*good-by,'  and  be  off  as  quickly  as  you  can.  This  is  no 
sort  of  place  for  a  poor  young  girl  like  you." 

Lilly  sat  up,  and  pulled  down  her  waist. 

The  cook  was  standing  beside  her — a  brown,  furrowed, 
thick-lipped  face.  Stroking  Lilly's  shoulder  she  asked  if 
she  should  bring  her  something  to  strengthen  her  heart,  a 
cordial  beaten  up  with  the  white  of  an  egg,  or  something 
else. 


128  The  Song  of  Songs 

**I  want  to  go  home/' 

**You  shall,  pretty  soon,  my  dear.  But  I  must  call  him 
in  first/' 

She  hustled  out  of  the  room. 

Lilly  reached  for  her  hat,  on  which  she  must  have  been 
lying,  because  it  was  completely  crushed  and  misshapen. 

**Now  I  must  certainly  get  a  new  one,"  she  thought, 
and  tried  to  reckon  how  much  she  could  spare  for  it. 

The  door  opened.     He  entered,  followed  by  the  cook. 

Lilly  was  no  longer  afraid.  Everything  seemed  far, 
far  away.  Even  he.  Nothing  seemed  to  concern  her  any 
more. 

**I  think  she's  fit  to  be  taken  to  the  cab  already,"  said 
the  cook. 

**You  are  no  longer  needed  here,"  he  said  imperiously. 

The  cook  ventured  to  stammer  another  suggestion. 

* '  Get  out ! "  he  thundered. 

With  that  she  was  outside  the  door. 

Lilly  experienced  merely  a  lazy  sensation  of  being 
startled. 

** Nevertheless,  I'm  curious  to  know  what  he  means  to  do 
with  me  now,"  she  thought. 

But  her  interest  in  her  own  fate  was  not  great. 

He  walked  up  and  down  with  a  heavy  tread.  The  silver 
spurs  on  his  heels  jingled. 

**We'll  have  some  light,"  he  said.  **The  subject  we're 
now  to  discuss  requires  clearness." 

He  summoned  the  lackey  who  had  smiled  the  furtive, 
cunning  smile.  The  lackey  lit  the  gas  jets  of  the  chan- 
delier, and  on  leaving  the  room  gave  Lilly  a  glance  of 
wildly  eager  curiosity,  this  time  without  a  smile. 

Lilly  still  sat  on  the  couch  on  which  she  had  come  back 
to  consciousness,  twirling  her  old  hat  without  a  thought  in 
her  brain. 


The  Song  of  Songs  1^9 

In  the  full  light  of  the  chandelier  she  saw  the  colonel  in 
all  his  resplendence  still  pacing  silently  up  and  down. 

Lilly  could  look  him  in  the  face  without  a  flutter. 

**It's  all  the  same  to  me  what  he  does,'*  she  thought 
**I  cannot  defend  myself  at  any  rate.'* 

He  moved  a  chair  in  front  of  her,  and  sat  down — so  close 
that  his  knees  almost  touched  her. 

'^Now  listen  to  me,  my  child,'*  he  said.  His  words  rang 
out  steely  and  choppj^  as  words  of  command  at  a  drill. 
**  While  you  were  lying  here  in  a  faint,  I  thought  about  you 
in  the  other  room,  and  came  to  a  decision — but  more  of  that 
later.  You  have  long  noticed,  I  suppose,  that  my  feeling 
for  you  is  not  paternal.  The  older  I  grow  the  less  I 
comprehend  so-called  fatherliness.  To  be  brief — I  am 
seized  by  a  passion  for  you  which — rather  upsets  me.  If 
I  were  ten  years  older  than  I  am — I  am  fifty-four — I  should 
say :     '  That 's  senile. '    Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ? ' ' 

Lilly  shook  her  head. 

She  saw  his  face  next  to  hers  so  distinctly  that,  had  she 
never  looked  upon  it  again,  she  would  have  remembered 
it  to  the  end  of  her  days. 

His  eyes  embedded  in  red  puffs,  burned  and  bored  again 
in  the  way  that  had  frightened  her  so  at  first.  His  hair 
lay  in  bristling  strands  of  grey  at  his  temples  and  over 
his  ears,  but  his  moustache  was  black  as  coal,  and  shadowed 
his  dark  teeth  like  a  spot  of  ink  with  a  white  line  down  the 
centre.  From  his  mouth  started  the  two  limp  folds  which 
passed  his  shiny  chin  and  disappeared  in  the  collar  of  his 
military  coat. 

*'How  strange,"  thought  Lilly,  **that  I  must  be  the  mis- 
tress of  that  bad  old  man." 

But  he  wanted  it  so,  and  there  was  nothing  else  to  do. 

*'If  you  were  to  make  inquiries  concerning  me,"  he 
continued,  ** they'd  tell  you  that  despite  my  age,  I  know 


130  The  Song  of  Songs 

how  to  subdue  women — probably  because  I  never  respected 
them  any  too  highly.  But  this  time — how  shall  I  say  ? — the 
affair  is  in  a  manner  peculiar.  I  need  not  conceal  it — I 
cannot  sleep.  I  haven't  slept  for  many  nights;  which  has 
never  happened  to  me  before.  Such  a  state  of  matters 
may  not  continue,  and  I  pledged  myself  to  make  an  end 
of  the  absurdity  in  some  way  or  other  at  the  death  of  the 
old  year. ' '  He  looked  at  the  clock.  *  *  I  have  half  an  hour 
still.  I'm  expected  at  a  function.  In  short:  it's  true,  I 
wanted  to  seduce  you.  That  is,  for  a  man  of  my  years, 
who  hasn  't  anything  seductive  about  him  any  more,  seduce 
is  not  the  right  word.  At  any  rate  not  here ;  I  'd  given  my 
word  of  honour  in  my  letter.  But  you  were  in  my  power 
— you  need  not  doubt  that  an  instant. ' ' 

*'I  don't,*'  thought  Lilly,  who  was  listening  to  all  he 
said  with  as  little  concern  as  if  she  were  reading  it  in  a 
thrilling  romance.  The  old  fear  had  not  returned.  She  was 
still  waiting  with  lazy  curiosity  for  what  was  to  follow. 

**If  you  had  showed  fight,  you  would  have  been  defeated 
all  the  more  certainly.  I  am  somewhat  of  an  adept  in  such 
things.  But  your  fainting  spell  occurred,  and  gave  me  an 
insight  into  your  soul.  I  had  to  admit  I  should  never  have 
taken  joy  in  my  conquest.  You're  fine  stuff,  and  I  have 
no  use  for  someone  who  would  pine.  Tearful  mistresses 
have  always  been  a  horror  to  me.  I  love  my  comfort.  I 
have  had  experiences  I  should  not  like  to  repeat.  So,  while 
you  were  lying  here  with  my  cook  to  take  care  of  you,  I 
determined  I  was  on  the  wrong  course." 

Lilly  had  a  warm  sensation  of  happiness,  as  if  some 
great  act  of  kindness  were  being  shown  her. 

''How  noble,  how  glorious  of  him,"  she  thought,  **to 
let  poor  stupid  me  alone." 

She  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  his  hands  hanging  between 
his  knees.    They  were  yellow  and  long  and  bony.    Had 


The  Song  of  Songs  131 

she  not  been  ashamed  to,  she  would  have  leaned  over  and 
kissed  them,  to  show  her  gratitude. 

The  next  moment  she  felt  almost  sorry  that  so  noble  a 
man  should  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  any  more. 

**I  took  further  counsel  with  myself,"  he  continued, 
and  his  voice  was  still  steelier,  as  if  tempered  in  the  fire 
of  his  resolve.  *'The  idea  was  not  a  new  one.  It  had 
occurred  to  me  frequently.  At  first  it  seemed  ridiculous, 
then  it  came  to  be  a  last  resort,  from  which  I  would  not 
cut  myself  off,  in  case  circumstances  warranted — I  am  tak- 
ing that  way  now.  Why  shouldn't  I?  I'm  not  very  am- 
bitious. I'm  too  well  acquainted  with  the  vile  machinery 
of  the  government.  It  doesn't  pay  to  oil  it  any  longer 
than  need  be  with  one's  sweat  and  blood.  So  the  idea  of 
quitting  doesn't  frighten  me — of  course  I  shall  have  to 
leave  service.  Perhaps  I  should  at  any  rate.  There  are 
days  when  I  can  scarcely  keep  the  saddle  because  of  that 
cursed  rheumatism  in  my  hips." 

*'Why  is  he  telling  me  all  this?"  thought  Lilly,  not  a 
little  flattered  that  so  great  and  aristocratic  a  man  should 
discuss  such  weighty  matters  with  her. 

**What  exercises  me  more  is  that  a  whole  generation 
stands  ready  to  revenge  itself  for  the  robbery  perpetrated 
upon  it.  To  be  sure,  a  strong  hand  would  do  some  good. 
We  should  have  to  dare  something — why  not  our  side  as 
well  as  the  other  ?    Well,  what  do  you  say,  child  ? ' ' 

Lilly  did  not  reply.  She  was  ashamed  that  she  was  so 
stupid  as  not  to  have  extracted  a  single  idea  from  all  he 
said.     His  words  sounded  like  Hottentotese. 

**Well,  will  you — yes  or  no?" 

'*I  don't  know — I  don't  understand  what  you  mean," 
she  stammered. 

**Good  Lord!  I've  been  asking  you  all  this  time 
whether  you'll  be  my  wife,"  said  the  colonel. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  great  moment  of  her  hopes  had  arrived. 

*'Is  this  you,  Lilly  Czepanek,  to  whom  such  things  hap- 
pen? Or,  is  it  someone  else,  with  whom  you  changed 
places,  some  character  in  one  of  your  brown-backed  books, 
who  will  cease  to  live  the  instant  you  close  it?" 

He  had  not  insisted  on  an  answer  that  New  Year's  Eve. 
When  she  had  fallen  back  in  a  tremble,  incapable  of  utter- 
ing a  syllable,  incapable  of  thinking,  he  had  taken  her 
hands  in  his,  and  with  the  smile  of  a  gift-giving  god  had 
begun  to  talk  to  her  in  a  softer,  gentler  tone  than  she  had 
thought  possible  in  him.  He  told  her  to  think  the  matter 
over ;  she  might  take  three  days,  no,  a  week ;  he  would  have 
patience.  But  she  must  promise  not  to  say  a  word  about 
it  to  anybody. 

She  promised  willingly,  though  she  could  not  look  him 
in  the  face,  she  was  so  horribly  ashamed. 

Then  she  had  run  home,  and  cried  and  cried  without 
knowing  whether  from  bliss  or  misery.  When  the  sisters 
came  creeping  in  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning — they  had 
let  down  the  bars  of  their  propriety  on  New  Year's  Eve — 
she  was  still  crying. 

On  rising,  she  came  to  the  conclusion  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  serious  and  he  would  take  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  recant — perhaps  that  very  day. 

She  would  not  complain  if  he  did.  On  the  contrary  she 
would  breathe  freer,  and  thank  God  for  having  rid  her  of 
the  presence  of  a  phantom. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  bell  rang.  , 

132 


The  Song  of  Songs  133 

A  box  of  roses  was  delivered,  the  size  and  cost  of  which 
aroused  the  disapproving  amazement  of  the  sisters,  who 
knew  to  a  penny  the  price  of  roses  at  that  season,  and 
reckoned  a  smn  greatly  exceeding  Lilly's  wages  for  several 
months. 

**I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  see/'  said  the  older,  **why 
you  don't  yield  to  such  a  magnificent  admirer.  With  us, 
of  course,  it's  different.  We  belong  to  society,  and  we 
cannot  give  ourselves  up.  But  you,  nothing  more  than  a 
shop  girl,  with  no  family  to  have  to  consider!  Besides, 
there 's  no  doubt  but  that  shame  has  its  charms.  I  in  your 
place  would  make  a  venture — " 

The  younger  and  more  sentimental  sister  opposed  the 
older  one's  advice. 

**The  first  time  it  should  be  from  pure  love,"  she  said. 
**You  owe  it  to  your  own  soul,  even  if  you  are  only  a 
shop  girl." 

Without  coming  to  an  agreement  upon  this  debatable 
point,  they  went  off  to  witness  the  change  of  guards,  which 
Colonel  von  Mertzbach,  they  said,  contemplated  directing 
in  his  own  person  on  New  Year's  day,  and  the  Colonel, 
reputed  to  be  a  very  handsome  man  pursued  by  all  the 
marriageable  girls  in  society,  was  someone  they  wanted  to 
see. 

Lilly  patted  and  kissed  the  roses  of  the  upper  stratum, 
and  would  have  done  the  same  to  all  in  the  box,  had  there 
not  been  so  many. 

Then  she  took  heart,  locked  the  door,  and  went  to  St. 
Anne's  to  pay  St.  Joseph  a  visit. 

She  nearly  met  the  officers  hastening  to  the  main  guard 
face  to  face,  but  managed  in  the  nick  of  time  to  escape 
down  a  side  street. 

High  mass  had  just  concluded  and  had  left  an  odor  of 


134  The  Song  of  Songs 

incense  and  poor  people  between  the  arched  aisles.     A  few 
persons  were  still  praying  at  the  side  altars. 

Lilly  kneeled  before  her  saint,  leaned  her  head  against 
the  velvet-covered  rail,  and  tried  to  lay  bare  her  torn 
heart  in  order  to  obtain  counsel  and  help. 

*^May  I?     Shall  I?     Can  IV 

Oh,  she  longed  to.  Such  a  piece  of  fortune  would  never 
come  her  way  again,  never,  never.  To  be  rich,  a  baroness, 
to  have  all  the  splendours  of  the  universe  laid  at  her  feet. 
Where  outside  of  fairytales  do  such  marvels  occur? 

If  only  there  hadn't  been  one  thing  about  him.  But 
what  that  one  thing  was  she  could  not  determine. 

It  wasn't  his  eyes,  no  matter  how  dagger-like  they 
looked.  It  wasn't  the  bristly  hair  on  his  temples  either, 
nor  the  grating  voice  of  command. 

Now  she  knew!  It  was  the  two  dewlaps  that  fell  from 
chin  to  throat.  Yes,  that's  what  it  was.  No  use  trying 
to  dissemble  with  herself  and  pretend  she  did  not  see  them. 
She  shuddered  at  the  mere  thought  of  them. 

None  the  less,  the  sisters  had  called  him  a  handsome 
man,  and  rich,  aristocratic  women  ran  after  him.  It 
would  be  sheer  folly  to  refuse. 

And  wasn't  he  the  noblest,  the  best,  the  most  exalted  of 
men?    Wasn't  he  like  God  Himself? 

She  imagined  herself  living  and  breathing  for  him. 
She  would  sit  at  his  feet  and  learn.  She  would  flutter 
about  him  like  a  gay  bird.  No,  she  could  not  imagine  a 
person  being  gay  in  his  presence.  But  a  person  could  be 
poetic.  You  could  languish  away  into  unknown  remote- 
nesses, gaze  at  the  evening  clouds,  present  a  noble,  pale 
picture,  up  to  which  strange  young  men  would  look  with 
consuming  passion,  and  be  honoured  by  not  a  glance  in 
return — she  could  do  this,  because  her  life  would  be  dedi- 
cated to  the  one  who  was  to  be  her  protector,  friend,  and 


The  Song  of  Songs  135 

father,  who  would  elevate  her  to  heights  from  which  other- 
wise a  ray  would  never  have  fallen  upon  her. 

''I  will,  I  will!"  life  within  her  cried.  ''Dear  St. 
Joseph,   I  will!" 

St.  Joseph  raised  a  threatening  finger. 

But  St.  Joseph  always  raised  a  threatening  finger.  He 
couldn  't  help  himself.  That  was  the  way  the  sculptor  had 
made  him.  The  sight  of  that  finger,  however,  was  vexa- 
tious and  not  calculated  to  help  a  poor  human  being  out 
of  a  dilemma. 

The  next  day  she  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Pieper, 
asking  her  to  call  at  his  office  on  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance. 

Hot  and  cold  waves  shivered  up  and  down  her  back. 

''He  knows,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Mrs.  Asmussen  was  greatly  displeased  when  Lilly  asked 
for  permission  to  go  out. 

"You  get  flowers  and  expensive  gifts,  and  you  want  to 
leave  the  library  every  day.  I  very  much  fear  me  I  shall 
have  to  oifer  up  a  daily  prayer  for  you  again." 

But  Lilly  showed  her  the  guardian's  letter,  and  she 
yielded. 

Lilly  had  not  seen  her  guardian  since  the  day,  a  year 
and  a  half  before,  when  she  had  left  the  hospital  tottering 
from  weakness.  Timidity  had  prevented  her  from  avail- 
ing herself  of  his  invitation  to  visit  him  again.  Besides, 
there  had  been  no  occasion  to.  Nobody  had  inquired  for 
her.  From  time  to  time  a  tall,  dry  man,  whom  she  recog- 
nised as  Mr.  Pieper 's  managing  clerk,  had  called  on  Mrs. 
Asmussen  and  held  a  short  conversation  with  her.  This 
was  the  one  sign  that  the  man  to  whose  protection  Lilly 
had  been  consigned  thought  of  her. 

"Mr.  Pieper  says,  will  you  please  walk  in,"  said  the 
clerk. 


136  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  prominent  lawyer,  as  on  the  previous  occasion,  was 
sitting  behind  his  desk.  When  Lilly  entered,  he  raised 
his  head,  and  inspected  her  a  few  moments  in  silence. 
Then  he  smiled  and  rubbed  his  shining  pate,  and  said  in  a 
long  drawl: 

*^U— m— m!    So— o— o!'' 

His  eyes  glided  over  her  body  as  over  a  piece  of  goods 
for  sale. 

Lilly,  whose  respect  for  the  man  rendered  her  breathless, 
made  a  gesture  which  was  half  bow,  half  courtesy,  and 
pulled  at  the  short  sleeves  of  her  overcoat. 

''Now  I  understand,'*  continued  Mr.  Pieper.  **You 
have  developed  in  a  way,  my  child,  which  in  a  measure 
excuses  all  sorts  of  masculine  absurdities,  even  if  it  does 
not  justify  them — the  masculine  intellect  is  here  to  sup- 
press all  ebullitions.  I  forgot  my  manners — good  morn- 
ing, Miss  Czepanek.'' 

He  rose  and  held  out  his  cold,  spongy  hand,  which  under 
pressure  felt  as  limp  as  if  it  were  boneless. 

*'0h,  do  please  show  me  your  gloves,"  he  said. 

Lilly  started  like  a  guilty  thing,  drew  her  elbows  back, 
blushed  and  stammered: 

**I  was  just  going  to  buy  a  new  pair.'' 

** Don't!"  he  rejoined,  smacking  his  lips  with  gusto. 
**Grey  rags  like  these  arouse  emotion.  Your  cloak  arouses 
emotion,  too.  Your  clothes  make  a  piquant  contrast  to 
your  general  appearance.  Lovers  of  such  naive,  senti- 
mental things  are  easily  moved  by  them  to  lyric  outbursts, 
even  if  lyricism  is  not  their  forte." 

He  laid  his  arm  in  hers  with  a  confidential  manner,  and 
led  her  to  a  heavily  upholstered  settee. 

''Be  seated  in  this  chair  of  torture,"  he  said,  "though 
to-day  we're  not  going  to  extract  even  a  tooth.     Taking 


The  Song  of  Songs  137 

everything  into  consideration,  you  have  done  well  for  your- 
self.    I  am  content  with  you,  my  child." 

He  stroked  his  straw-coloured  beard  complacently,  and 
grinned  like  a  trickster  after  the  performance  of  a  par- 
ticularly artful  dodge.  *'When  do  you  think  the  wedding 
will  take  place?" 

**Why,  there  has  not  been — an  engagement — yet,"  stam- 
mered Lilly. 

**Well,  there  won't  be  what  is  called  a  real  engagement 
— sending  out  notices  and  receiving  visits,  and  so  on.  As 
little  stir  as  possible,  Miss  Czepanek,  as  little  stir  as  pos- 
sible. That's  my  advice.  In  the  delicate  situation  in 
which  we  find  ourselves,  contrary  influences  are  always  to 
be  feared." 

**I  haven't  said  'yes'  yet,"  Lilly  ventured  to  interject. 

This  amused  him  immensely. 

** Who'd  have  thought  it!  A  mock  refusal!  Who'd 
have  thought  it !  I  didn  't  take  you  for  so  good  a  business 
woman,  Miss  Czepanek." 

*'I  am  at  a  loss  as  to  your  meaning,"  said  Lilly,  who 
without  fully  realising  why,  was  growing  hot  with  indig- 
nation. 

He  put  one  hand  to  his  hip,  and  continued  to  be  amused. 

*'Well,  well,  that's  all  very  fine  and  practical.  But  you 
can't  carry  such  jokes  too  far.  Let  me  arrange  mat- 
ters. I  have  some  knowledge  of  these  affairs,  though, 
I  admit,  so  important  a  case  has  never  come  to  me  before. 
I  will  endeavour  to  hasten  the  wedding  as  much  as  possible 
— ^for  the  reasons  I  have  already  mentioned.  I  will  also 
ask  for  all  possible  secrecy,  at  least  until  his  resignation 
has  been  accepted.  Then  nothing  need  stand  in  the  way 
of  securing  the  banns,  since  getting  an  adequate  trousseau 
need  concern  us  in  only  a  lesser  degree.     As  for  your  con- 


138  The  Song  of  Songs 

duct,  my  dear  child,  I  advise  you  for  the  present  to  remain 
as  undecided,  as  maidenly,  as  fresh  as  possible.  The  only 
change  I  suggest  is  to  use  better  soap.  Everything  else 
may  continue  to  be  just  as  it  is.  Perhaps  you  will  have 
to  be  placed  with  another  family.  In  that  case  it  will  be 
necessary,  of  course,  to  get  an  outfit,  for  which  the  sum 
realised  from  the  sale  of  your  mother's  effects,  amounting 
to — one  moment,  please."  He  opened  a  large  account 
book  lying  on  a  rack  next  to  his  desk,  "amounting  to — A, 
B,  C,  Czepanek — amounting  to  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
six  marks  and  seventy-five  pfennig,  will  come  in  very 
handy.  ^Esthetic  enjoyment  of  the  circumstances  leads  me 
to  place  my  own  purse  also  at  your  disposal.  Well,  so 
much  for  the  time  preceding  the  wedding!  As  to  the  in- 
comparably more  important  time  following,  I  should  not 
like  you  to  leave  my  office  before  I  had  given  you  a  few 
delicate  hints,  although  unfortunately,  I  must  deny  my- 
self the  pleasure  of — '' 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  rubbed  his  hands,  while  an 
epicurean,  satyr's  smile  widened  his  broad  face. 

*'The  pleasure  of  taking  a  mother's  place  and  giving 
you  the  advice  with  which  a  mother  usually  sends  off  a 
bride." 

This  time  Lilly  understood  him,  and  her  hot  shame 
seemed  to  spread  a  red  mist  before  her  eyes. 

*  *  You  may  trust  me  implicitly  in  such  matters  as  a  will, 
life  insurance,  and  alimony  in  case  of  divorce,  provided, 
of  course,  you  are  the  innocent  party — or  even,  in  a  sense, 
a  bit  guilty.  You  were  not  placed  in  my  keeping  for 
nothing.  However,  there  is  one  circumstance — which  cir- 
cumstance has  to  be  taken  most  frequently  into  considera- 
tion in  marriages  like  yours — one  circumstance  in  which 
my  professional  skill,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  cannot  provide 
you  with  adequate  security.     As  to  that,  you  must  keep 


The  Song  of  Songs  139 

your  eyes  wide  open  for  yourself.  We  human  beings  have 
been  put  in  this  world,  my  child,  to  do  what  gives  us 
pleasure.  Whoever  says  the  reverse  steals  the  sun  from 
your  heaven.  But  I  warn  you  of  three  things:  first,  ex- 
change no  superfluous  glances;  second,  demand  no  super- 
fluous rendering  of  accounts;  third,  make  no  superfluous 
confessions.    You  cannot  fully  comprehend  this  yet — '* 

As  a  matter  of  fact  Lilly  comprehended  not  a  single 
word. 

**But  when  the  occasion  arises,  think  of  what  I've  said. 
The   recollection   may  prove   useful.     And — here's   some- 
thing very  important — do  you  love  jewels?" 
''I  cannot  say  I  have  ever  seen  any." 
**Well,  in  the  jeweler's  window  at  the  Altmarkt?" 
*'We  were  always  forbidden  to  stand  in  front  of  shop 

windows." 

■• 

Mr.  Pieper  laughed  his  vilest  laugh. 

**I  advise  you  when  you  are  out  walking  with  your 
husband  to  stand  in  front  of  every  shop  window.  Such 
little  attentions  may  seldom  be  reclaimed.  Pay  special  re- 
gard to  pearls.  In  that  way  you  will  lay  by  a  little  re- 
serve which  will  stand  you  in  mighty  good  stead  in  your 
hour  of  need — and  your  hour  of  need  will  come,  you  may 
be  sure  it  will." 

Lilly  nodded  her  head  and  thought : 

**I  will  never,  never,  do  that." 

Mr.  Pieper  stroked  his  shining  bald  spot  several  times 
with  his  plump,  white  hand,  and  continued : 

*'Well,  what  else  have  I  to  say  to  you?  I  have  a  good 
deal  more  advice  to  give,  but  I  fear  not  being  understood. 
Just  one  thing,  for  the  first  few  months.  Marriage,  no 
matter  what  sort  of  marriage,  causes  a  peculiar  derange- 
ment of  the  nervous  system  in  natures  like  yours.  Should 
jou  feei  an  iuclination  to  cry,  take  a  bromide.     In  general, 


140  The  Song  of  Songs 

take  plenty  of  bromides — whether  in  case  of  great  love,  or 
— hm — great  aversion.  At  certain  times  pull  a  cap  over 
your  head,  so  that  you  see  nothing,  hear  nothing,  and  feel 
nothing,  and,  as  it  were,  shunt  yourself  off  from  what  goes 
on  around  you,  yourself,  your  volition,  and  your  feel- 
ings. The  close  atmosphere  of  the  chamber  which  will  at 
first  envelope  you  will  gradually  evaporate — in  this  case 
probably  at  the  end  of  a  few  months.  Then  you  will 
breathe  fresh  air  again,  and  instead  of  a  tester,  you  will 
once  more  see  the  heaven  of  your  maiden  days.  But, 
whatever  happens,  it  is  dangerous  when  one's  nerves  are 
overstimulated,  to  direct  one's  fancy  too  much  upon  the 
immediate  environment  and  seek  the  necessary  compen- 
sation that  very  instant.  Turn  from  what  is  near,  and 
dream  about  the  remote  blue  mountains.  Let  your  hap- 
piness ever  dwell  at  a  safe  distance.  You  are  young.  It 
will  draw  closer.  Give  it  time  to  become  full  fledged.  I 
assume  you  haven't  understood  a  word." 

*'0h,  yes  I  have,"  stammered  Lilly,  who  wished  not  to 
be  considered  stupid,  though  he  was  right — his  words  fell 
upon  her  like  hailstones,  of  which  she  was  able  to  gather 
only  a  few  here  and  there.  Nevertheless,  she  had  under- 
stood the  last  part,  that  about  dreaming  of  the  remote 
blue  mountains.  It  did  her  heart  good,  and  she  would 
take   his   advice. 

** However  that  may  be,"  Mr.  Pieper  continued,  *'some 
sentence  or  other  will  occur  to  you  on  occasion.  One  point 
more,  the  most  delicate  of  all,  because  it  is,  so  to  speak,  the 
most  spiritual.  If  what  is  about  you  gives  no  sound  or 
response,  if  it  does  not  echo  to  your  call,  you  must  not 
grieve,  nor  attempt  to  alter  it.  Cracked  bells  should  not 
be  rung.  Rather  make  your  own  music.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  you  have  a  whole  orchestra  at  your  disposal." 


The  Song  of  Songs  141 

**I    have    the    Song    of    Songs/'    thought    Lilly,  tri-^ 
nmphantly. 

**You  cannot  imagine,  my  child,  how  important  it  is, 
when  one  lives  in  such  close  contact  with  another  human 
being,  not  to  lose  one's  touch  with  oneself.  Keep  a  cor- 
ner reserved  for  your  own  thoughts — they  will  amuse  you 
greatly.  He  who  likes  to  eat  fresh  eggs  must  raise  his  own 
chickens.  Don't  forget  that.  But  keep  your  corner  to 
yourself.  Offer  no  superfluous  resistance.  No  obstinacy. 
From  the  very  start  you  must  provide  the  course  of  your 
life  with  a  double  track,  so  that  you  can  ride  in  either 
direction,  as  need  be.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  under  such 
conditions  it  wouldn't  turn  out  to  be  quite  a  happy  mar- 
riage, entirely  apart  from  the  external  advantages — so  long 
as  they  last — these  are  matters  of  adaptation  and  good  luck 
which  our  will  cannot  control  in  advance.  I  will  send  you 
the  marriage  contract  sealed.  Until  your  coming  of  age — 
in  about  two  years,  I  believe — I  am  at  your  disposal.  If 
after  a  time  you  see  that  the  milk  in  your  cup  has  turned 
permanently  sour,  break  the  seal.  A  thorough  lawyer  can 
read  all  sorts  of  surprises  out  of  the  contract,  which  lay- 
men do  not  immediately  realise.  But,  as  I  said,  in  one 
case  he  cannot.  Beware  of  that  one  case.  It  is  called 
in  flagranti.  Some  time  cautiously  inquire  into  its  mean- 
ing. There  you  are!  Now,  may  I  give  the  colonel  your 
consent?" 


##' 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  train  rumbled  on  in  the  night.  Showers  of  sparks 
t''"  flew  past  the  window.  When  the  stoker  added  coal,  a 
beam  of  light  was  projected  far  into  the  darkness,  and 
for  an  instant  created  out  of  the  black  void  purple  pine 
-trees,  snowy  roofs  gleaming  golden,  and  fields  mottled  with 
yellow. 

How  beautiful  and  strange  it  was ! 

Lilly  leaned  her  head,  heavy  with  champagne,  back 
against  the  red  velvet  cushion. 

It  was  over.  A  whirl  of  images,  real  and  imaginary, 
flitted  back  and  forth  in  her  brain. 

A  great  black  inkwell  and  a  little  man  with  a  grey 
beard  behind  it  asking  all  sorts  of  useless  questions.  A 
white  cloud  of  lace  and  a  myrtle  wreath  thrown  over  her 
head  by  the  wife  of  the  manager  of  the  war  office,  who 
fell  from  one  fit  of  rapture  into  another,  A  hateful 
Protestant  minister  with  two  ridiculous  little  white  bibs. 
He  looked  like  a  grave-digger,  but  he  spoke  so  exquisitely, 
after  all,  that  you  wanted  to  throw  your  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  cry.  Two  black  and  two  gay  gentlemen.  One 
of  the  black  gentlemen,  Mr.  Pieper,  one  of  the  gay  gentle- 
men, the  colonel. 

**The  colonel's  wife — ^the  coloners  wife,''  throbbed  the 
wheels. 

But  if  she  listened  carefully,  she  also  heard  them  say 
what  the  gentlemen  had  kept  saying  to  her  that  day: 

**La — dy  Mertzbach — La — dy  Mertzbach." 

Keeping  time.    Keeping  time. 

142 


The  Song  of  Songs  143 

The  ice  cream  had  been  a  perfect  marvel,  a  regular  mine 
with  shafts  and  tunnels  and  mineral  veins,  and  little  lights, 
which  set  the  cut-glass  a-sparkle.  She  could  have  sat  there 
forever  staring  at  it,  but  she  had  to  dig  in  with  a  large 
gold  spoon,  so  that  a  whole  mountain  side  gave  way. 

Then  she  had  asked  him  whether  she  might  have  ice 
cream  to  eat  every  day,  and  he  had  laughed  and  said 
**yes. "  If  she  had  not  been  a  bit  tipsy,  she  would  not 
have  been  so  bold,  certainly  not.  And  she  determined  to 
ask  his  forgiveness  later. 

There  he  sat  opposite,  piercing  her  with  his  eyes. 

That  was  the  only  embarrassing  thing.  If  she  weren^t 
such  a  chicken-hearted  ninny,  she  would  ask  him  to  look 
somewhere  else  for  a  change. 

But  today  she  did  not  experience  actual  fear.  Latterly 
the  old  dread  had  gradually  left  her,  as  she  came  to  realise 
how  supernaturally  dear  he  was.  Express  a  wish,  and  it 
was  fulfilled. 

There  was  something  else,  about  which,  of  course,  she 
couldn't  speak  to  anyone.  Merely  to  think  of  it  was  a 
crime.  He  was  bow-legged.  Regular  cavalry  legs.  They 
were  a  little  short,  besides,  for  his  powerful  body,  giving 
his  stiff  stride  a  springy  sort  of  uncertainty,  as  if  he  were 
endeavouring  all  the  time  to  toe  the  mark,  especially  since 
he  had  donned  civilian's  clothes  and  kept  his  hands  stuck 
in  his  coat  pockets. 

From  time  to  time  he  leaned  forward  and  asked : 

**Are  you  comfortable,  little  girl?" 

Oh,  she  was  ever  so  comfortable.  She  could  have  re^ 
clined  there  the  rest  of  her  life,  her  head  leaning  back  on 
the  red  velvet  cushion,  the  soft  kid  gloves  on  her  hands 
and  the  natty  tips  of  new  boots  every  now  and  then  peep- 
ing from  under  her  travelling  gown. 

What  a  crowd  there  had  been  at  the  station ! 


144  The  Song  of  Songs 

No  uniforms,  of  course,  because  he  had  not  desired  an 
ofScial  escort.  To  compensate,  the  number  of  veiled  ladies 
had  been  all  the  greater.  They  pretended  to  have  busi- 
ness to  attend  to  on  the  platform,  and  tried  to  be  incon- 
spicuous. 

When  Lilly  walked  to  the  train  leaning  on  his  arm,  she 
caught  two  or  three  muffled  cries  of  admiration.  And  God 
knows,  they  did  not  issue  from  friendly  lips. 

It  all  circulated  about  her  heart  like  a  warm,  soothing 
stream. 

At  the  last  moment,  as  the  train  was  moving  off,  two 
bouquets  flew  in  through  the  window. 

She  looked  out.  There  were  the  two  sisters,  making 
deep  courtesies,  and  weeping  like  rain  spouts. 

So  great  was  Lilly's  fortune  that  even  envy  was  dis- 
armed, and  all  the  evil  poison  in  these  girls  was  trans- 
muted into  pained  participation  in  another's  joy! 

And  there  he  sat,  the  creator  of  it  all. 

Overcome  by  a  sense  of  well-being  and  gratitude,  she 
knelt  on  the  carpeted  floor  of  the  compartment,  folded  her 
hands  on  his  knees,  and  looked  up  to  him  worshipfuUy. 

He  put  his  right  arm  about  her,  pulled  her  close  to  him, 
and  let  his  left  hand  stray  down  her  body.  Fear  came 
upon  her  again.  She  slid  from  under  his  grasp  back  to 
her  seat.     He  nodded — with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  say : 

**My  hour  will  come  in  due  time.'* 

It  was  there  sooner  than  she  had  suspected. 

**Put  on  your  coat,"  he  said  suddenly,  **we  shall  be  get- 
ting out  soon." 

** Where?"  she  asked,  frightened. 

**At  the  station — you  know — from  which  a  branch  line 
goes  to  Lischnitz. ' ' 

**Why,  are  we  going  to  your  place?"  Lilly  was  terri- 
fied, because  he  had  always  spoken  of  going  to  Dresden. 


The  Song  of  Songs  145 

'*No/'  he  said  curtly.     *'We  remain  here." 

In  a  few  moments  they  found  themselves  on  a  dark  plat- 
form among  their  bags  and  trunks. 

The  icy  mist  formed  rainbow-coloured  suns  about  the  few 
lanterns,  and  white  clouds  of  frozen  breath  enveloped  each 
shadowy  form  as  it  stepped  into  a  circle  of  light. 

The  train  glided  off. 

They  stood  there,  and  nobody  concerned  himself  for 
them. 

The  colonel  began  to  swear  violently,  a  habit  acquired 
probably  at  drill,  when  the  world  did  not  wag  as  he  wished 
it  to  wag. 

His  cries  of  wrath  fell  upon  Lilly  like  great  hailstones. 
Her  whole  body  quivered,  as  if  she  were  at  fault. 

Some  of  the  station  guards,  to  whom  this  tone  of  com- 
mand seemed  familiar  from  times  of  old,  loaded  themselves 
with  the  baggage,  and  presented  a  lamentable  spectacle  in 
their  deep  contrition. 

A  hotel  coach  was  waiting  on  the  other  side.  Lilly 
thoroughly  intimidated  squeezed  into  the  farthest  comer. 

The  miserable  little  oil  lamp  burning  dimly  in  a  dirty 
glass  case,  threw  confused  shadows  upon  his  sharply  cut 
face,  and  seemed  to  endow  it  with  a  new  flickering  life,  as 
if  the  wrath  that  had  long  been  stifled  were  still  seething 
within  him. 

**You  are  completely  at  the  mercy  of  this  bad  old  man, 
whom  you  don't  know,  who  doesn't  concern  you  in  the 
least,  and  never  will  concern  you."  A  chill  ran  through 
her.  **  Supposing  you  were  to  dash  by  him,  tear  open  Jhe 
coach  door,  and  run  away  into  the  night?"  •   - 

She  pictured  what  would  take  place.  He  would  have 
the  coach  stopped,  would  jump  out,  and  give  chase,  calling 
and  screaming.  In  case  she  managed  to  keep  well  con- 
cealed, he  would  rouse  the  police,  and  the  next  morning 


146  The  Song  of  Songs 

she  would  be  discovered  cowering  in  a  corner,  asleep,  or 
frozen  perhaps. 

At  this  point  in  her  thoughts  he  groped  for  her  hand  as 
lovers  are  wont  to  do.  The  phantom  world  vanished,  and 
blossoming  into  smiles  again  she  returned  his  pressure. 

Nevertheless,  when  they  reached  the  hotel  where  they 
were  recived  by  the  proprietor  and  clerks  with  enthusiastic 
bowing  and  scraping,  and  Lilly  felt  a  stream  of  light, 
sound,  and  warmth  pouring  toward  her,  the  fleeting 
thought  beset  her  again: 

*'If  I  were  to  say  I  had  left  something  in  the  coach,  and 
were  to  run  away  and  never  come  back?" 

She  was  already  walking  up  the  steps  on  his  arm. 

They  were  ushered  into  a  large,  awe-inspiring  room 
with  a  flowered  carpet  and  a  bare,  three-armed  chandelier. 

In  one  corner  was  a  huge  bed,  with  high  carved  top  and 
tail  boards,  smoothly  covered  with  a  white  counterpane. 

She  looked  about  in  vain  for  another  bed. 

**St.  Joseph!"  shot  through  her  mind. 

The  colonel — when  thinking  of  him,  she  always  called 
him  the  colonel  still — behaved  as  if  he  were  at  home  in  the 
room.  He  grumbled  a  bit,  fussed  with  the  lights,  and 
threw  his  overcoat  in  a  corner. 

She  remained  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"If  I  want  to  flee  now,"  she  thought,  "I  shall  have  to 
throw  myself  out  of  the  window. ' ' 

* '  Don 't  you  intend  to  budge  until  to-morrow  morning  ? '  * 
he  said.  **If  so,  I'll  engage  your  services  as  a  clothes 
horse." 

A  smirking  calm  seemed  to  have  come  over  him,  as  if  he 
were  at  last  sure  of  his  possession. 

He  threw  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  lighted  a 
cigarette,  and  looked  at  her  with  a  connoisseur's  gaze, 


The  Song  of  Songs  147 

while  she  slowly  divested  herself  of  her  cloak  and  drew 
out  her  hatpin  with  hesitating  fingers. 

A  knock  at  the  door. 

A  waiter  entered  bearing  a  tray  with  cold  dishes  and 
a  silver-throated  bottle. 

"Champagne  again?''  asked  Lilly,  who  still  had  a 
slightly  sickish  feeling. 

**The  very  thing/'  he  said,  pouring  a  foaming  jet  into 
the  goblets.  ''It  gives  a  little  girl  courage  to  dedicate 
the  lovely  nightgown  waiting  for  her  in  the  trunk." 

She  clinked  glasses  with  him  in  obedience  to  his  demand, 
but  scarcely  moistened  her  lips  with  the  wine. 

He  jokingly  took  her  to  task,  and  she  pled : 

"I  shouldn't  like  to  be  drunk  on  such  a  sacred  evening." 

Her  answer  seemed  to  gratify  him  immensely.  He  burst 
into  a  noisy  laugh,  and  observed: 

*'A11  the  better,  all  the  better!" 

He  attempted  to  draw  her  down  to  him,  but  contact 
with  him  made  her  uneasy,  and  she  eluded  his  grasp  with 
a  quick  movement. 

**You  said  you  wanted  me  to  hunt  for  the  nightgown." 

She  knelt  at  the  trunk,  which  she  herself  had  packed  the 
night  before,  lifted  the  trays  out,  and  from  near  the  bottom 
fetched  out  the  nebulous,  lacy  creation,  which  was  one 
of  the  many  things  he  had  bought  her  before  the  wed- 
ding. 

She  looked  about  for  a  retreat,  but  nowhere  on  earth 
was  there  escape  from  that  pair  of  eyes  which  swimming 
in  desire  followed  her  every  movement. 

Hesitating,  faint-hearted  she  stood  there,  her  fingers 
hanging  to  her  collar,  which  she  did  not  venture  to  un- 
fasten. 

Growing  impatient  he  jumped  up. 


148  The  Song  of  Songs 

He  was  about  to  seize  her,  but  the  look  she  gave  him 
was  so  full  of  despair  that  a  knightly  impulse  bade  him 
desist. 

To  account  for  his  action  he  picked  up  a  roll  of  paper 
that  had  dropped  from  the  trunk  while  she  had  been 
rummaging  for  the  nightgown. 

Lilly  saw  something  white  gleam  between  his  dark 
fingers. 

' '  The  Song  of  Songs ! ' '  occurred  to  her. 

With  a  cry  she  jumped  on  him  and  tried  to  snatch  away 
the  roll.     But  his  hand  held  it  as  in  a  vice. 

He  defended  himself  with  ease,  laughing  all  the  time. 

The  thought  that  the  secret  of  her  life  had  strayed  into 
alien  hands,  deprived  her  of  her  senses.  She  cried,  she 
screamed,  she  beat  him  with  her  fists. 

The  matter  began  to  look  suspicious.  A  doubt  as  to  the 
virginity  of  her  soul,  yea,  even  of  her  body,  began  to 
assail  him. 

*'One  moment,  little  girl,*'  he  said.  ** There  are  no 
nooks  or  crannies  for  hiding  in  now.  Either  you'll  kindly 
let  me  see  what  this  is  without  further  delay,  or  I'll  take 
you  hetween  my  knees  and  hold  you  so  fast  you  won't  be 
able  to  move  a  muscle.'' 

Lilly  took  to  pleading. 

** Colonel,  dear,  dear  colonel!  A  few  sheets  of  music, 
and  some  songs,  that's  all,  I  swear  to  you,  dear  colonel." 

The  droll  innocence  of  her  plea  stirred  his  emotions ;  that 
humble,  unconscious  ** colonel"  set  him  laughing  again. 
Besides,  the  daughter  of  a  musician,  as  he  knew  her  to  be, 
might  be  expected  to  have  ambitions. 

"You  yourself  probably  composed'  he  asked. 

**No — no — no — it's  not  that,"  she  moaned,  *'But  don't 
look  in — give  it  back  to  me — if  you  don't,  I'll  jump  out 
,  of  the  window.    I  will,  by  God  and  all  the  saints!" 


The  Song  of  Songs  149 

She  pleased  him  so  well  with  her  eyes  stretched  in  deadly 
terror,  with  her  hair  loosened  by  the  straggle,  with  the  ex- 
pression of  a  tragic  muse  on  the  sweet,  delicately  cut 
child's  face,  that  he  wanted  to  enjoy  the  rare  sight  a 
little  longer. 

Accordingly,  he  assumed  a  black  expression,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  what  a  few  moments  ago  he  had  actually 
been. 

She  fell  on  her  knees,  and  clasping  his  legs,  stammered 
and  whispered,  almost  choked  with  shame  and  distress : 

**If  you  give  it  back  to  me,  you  can  do  with  me  what- 
ever you  want.  I  will  do  whatever  you  want.  I  won't 
resist  any  more.*' 

The  bargain,  it  struck  him,  was  to  his  advantage. 

** Shake  hands  on  it?"  he  asked. 

** Shake  hands,"  she  replied.  **And  never  ask  questions 
—yes?" 

**If  you  swear  to  me  by  your  St.  Joseph  it's  nothing 
but  music." 

"And  the  libretto,  I  swear." 

He  handed  her  the  roll,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  him — 
sold  herself  to  the  man  who  already  possessed  her  for  the 
Song  of  Songs,  of  which  he  had  robbed  her. 

The  rays  of  early  morning  shining  on  her  eyes  through 
curtains  striped  with  yellow  awoke  her.  She  was  resting 
comfortably  pressed  against  something  warm.  She  had 
slept  deliciously. 

What  had  happened  to  her  came  back  to  her  slowly. 

She  leaned  over  and  wanted  to  kiss  him. 

He  was  lying  with  his  head  thrown  back,  his  mouth 
open.  The  light  from  the  windows  was  playing  on  his 
shiny,  furrowed  chin.  Little  veins  crisscrossed  his  gaunt 
cheeks  like  streams  on  a  map.    The  inky  moustache  glist- 


150  The  Song  of  Songs 

ened  with  pomade.  His  eyelids  were  folded  over  so  often 
that  Lilly  thought  if  they  were  stretched  to  their  length 
they  would  reach  to  the  tip  of  his  nose. 

*'He  doesn't  look  bad,"  she  said  to  herself,  but  the  idea 
of  kissing  him  passed  out  of  her  mind. 

She  got  up  without  making  a  sound,  and  all  the  time  she 
dressed  he  did  not  stir.  The  old  cavalry  man  was  blessed 
with  sound  sleep. 

She  wrote  on  a  sheet  of  hotel  paper,  ''have  gone  to 
church,"  laid  the  sheet  between  his  fingers,  and  slipped 
out,  down  the  steps  and  past  the  porter,  who  was  so  as- 
tonished he  forgot  to  pull  off  his  cap. 

The  streets  of  the  little  town  were  dreaming  in  the  quiet 
of  the  winter  morning.  Hillocks  of  snow  swept  from  the 
middle  of  the  street  were  heaped  in  rows  along  the  gut- 
ters. A  black  swarm  of  crows  squatted  in  a  circle  about 
the  frozen  fountain  in  the  market-place.  The  faint  sound 
of  sleigh  bells  penetrated  the  grey  air. 

Boys  carrying  bags  were  .wending  their  way  to  school. 
In  some  of  the  sorry  shops  lights  were  still  burning.  Ap- 
prentices with  ruddy  cheeks  sweeping  the  steps  stopped  at 
Lilly's  approach,  and  stared,  or  called  to  others  inside; 
whereat  more  youths  appeared  and  all,  as  if  moved  by  one 
spring,  goggled  after  her. 

Marching  steps  beat  a  tattoo  behind  her.  A  long  line 
of  infantry  wearing  gloves — but  no  overcoats — came 
tramping  along  the  middle  of  the  street,  puffing  clouds  of 
frozen  breath  in  front  of  them  at  regular  intervals.  All 
turned  **eyes  left"  toward  her,  as  if  that  had  been  the 
word  of  command,  and  the  officers  walking  at  the  side  of 
the  line  threw  one  another  questioning  glances,  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders. 

She  did  not  have  far  to  search  for  the  Catholic  parish 


The  Song  of  Songs  151 

church,  which  towered  above  the  roofs  round  about.  It 
was  a  clumsy  stone  structure  with  remnants  of  Gothic 
built  over  and  stopped  up  with  bricks. 

The  alcoves  along  the  side  aisles  were  filled  with  altars 
barbarously  gilded  and  decorated  with  cheap  garish  vases. 
Her  St.  Joseph  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  So  she  con- 
tented herself  with  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows,  who,  however, 
did  not  have  much  to  say  to  her. 

An  inexplicable  feeling  of  oppression  and  emptiness 
seized  her,  as  if  she  had  broken  something,  she  did  not 
know  what. 

She  kneeled  and  mumbled  her  prayers  so  unthinkingly 
that  she  was  ashamed  of  herself. 

Then  she  caught  herself  ogling  her  kid  gloves  which 
enveloped  her  fingers  with  velvety,  inconspicuous  aristo- 
cracy. 

Every  now  and  then  a  shiver  ran  through  her  body, 
which  forced  her  to  close  her  eyes  and  clench  her  teeth — 
she  was  ashamed  of  the  shiver,  too. 

Soon  she  gave  up  praying  entirely,  and  regarded  Our 
Lady,  who  was  pulling  a  doleful  face,  as  if  to  say :  *  *  Do, 
please,  draw  this  thing  out  of  my  body.*'  Yet  the  seven 
swords  piercing  her  heart  had  handles  set  with  pearls  and 
precious  gems. 

**If  only  I  were  unhappy,*'  thought  Lilly,  **I'd  have 
something.  Then  I  could  carry  on  a  conversation  with 
her,  the  way  I  used  to  with  St.  Joseph — and  the  swords 
in  my  heart  would  be  sumptuous  to  behold.'* 

As  sumptuous  as  the  pearl  chain  he  had  put  about  her 
neck  yesterday  at  the  wedding. 

She  recalled  what  she  had  been  like  two  months  before, 
when  she  had  stolen  off  for  half  an  hour  in  the  grey  of 
early  morning  to  lay  her  hot,  surcharged  heart  at  the  feet 


152  The  Song  of  Songs 

of  her  beloved  saint — ^how  she  had  been  borne  off  on  clouds 
by  the  intoxication  of  youth,  her  gaze  turned  upon  the  fair 
and  blessed  distance. 

None  the  less  she  had  been  steeped  in  misery  and  utter 
destitution. 

*'If  that's  the  way  happiness  looks/'  she  went  on  with 
her  thoughts,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

Suddenly  she  was  beset  with  fear  that  those  times  would 
never  return,  that  she  would  have  to  live  on  eternally  as 
now,  empty-hearted,  distraught,  tortured  by  a  dull  op- 
pression. 

**This  comes  of  not  loving  him  enough,*'  she  confessed  to 
herself. 

At  last  she  knew  what  she  had  to  pray  for  to  Our  Lady 
of  Sorrows. 

She  hid  her  face  in  both  hands,  and  prayed  long  and 
fervently.  She  prayed  to  be  able  to  love  him — with  as 
much  passion  as  she  had  drops  of  blood — ^with  as  much 
devotion  as  she  had  hopes  in  her  soul,  with  as  much  delight 
as  there  was  laughter  in  her  heart. 

And  behold !    Her  prayer  was  heard ! 

With  the  burden  removed  from  her  soul,  her  eyes 
shining,  she  arose,  and  returned  to  the  place  where  she 
belonged,  to  serve  him  in  humility  and  trust — as  his  child, 
his  handmaiden,  his  courtesan,  whichever  he  happened  to 
wish. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

The  colonel  wishing,  on  account  of  his  mesalliance,  to 
avoid  his  many  military  friends,  did  not  stop  over  at 
Berlin  with  Lilly,  but  went  directly  on  to  Dresden,  which 
they  reached  in  three  hours. 

He  had  engaged  rooms  at  Sendig's,  and  the  proprietor 
had  done  his  utmost  to  fit  up  snug  and  aristocratic  quar- 
ters for  the  newly-wed  couple.  Sitting-room,  bedroom, 
and  bath — that  was  all  they  needed.  Close  companion- 
ship, the  outer  appearance  of  intimacy,  would  naturally 
bring  about  inward  intimacy. 

The  colonel  had  good  cause,  indeed,  to  be  satisfied  with 
his  honeymoon! 

He,  who  in  the  course  of  his  many  amours  had  probably 
dandled  hundreds  of  girls  on  his  knees,  who  thought  he 
knew  women  through  and  through,  the  tart  and  the  sweet, 
the  chaste  and  the  coquette,  the  sensitive  and  the  bold,  the 
genuine  and  the  flashy,  those  who  confined  their  coy 
caresses  to  a  man's  hand  and  lower  arm,  and  those  who 
hung  on  men's  lips  biting  and  sucking  them  in  a  wild 
frenzy,  he,  the  old  voluptuary,  to  whom  nothing  feminine 
ought  to  have  been  strange,  stood  astounded,  incredulous 
before  this  lovely  marvel. 

So  much  abandon  and  so  much  pride,  so  much  tenderness 
and  so  much  fire,  so  much  ready  comprehension  and  so 
much  artless  childishness,  all  mingled  in  one  dreamy, 
laughing  Madonna  head,  had  never  before  presented  itself 
to  him,  for  all  the  fine  art  he  had  exercised  in  his  roue's 
career. 

153 


154  The  Song  of  Songs 

What  touched  him  most  and  completely  puzzled  him 
was  the  modesty  of  her  desires,  the  fact  that  she  made  no 
demands  of  any  sort. 

When  they  took  dinner  a  la  carte  he  might  be  sure  her 
eye  would  travel  to  the  cheapest  orders  for  herself;  anc 
the  expression  with  which  she  would  sometimes  prefer  a 
request  to  be  allowed  to  drink  orangeade,  was  as  hesitat- 
ing and  shamefaced  as  if  she  were  making  a  love  avowal. 

One  day,  on  returning  from  the  Grosser  Garten  by  way 
of  side  streets,  Lilly  stood  still  in  front  of  a  poverty- 
stricken  little  provision  shop.  As  a  rule  nothing  could  in- 
duce her  to  look  into  shop  windows,  and  the  colonel,  cu- 
rious as  to  her  interest  in  the  place,  extracted  from  her  the 
confession  that  she  loved  sunflower  seeds — and  would  he 
be  very  angry  if  she  asked  him  to  buy  some? 

The  more  he  overwhelmed  her  with  gifts,  the  less  she 
seemed  to  realise  that  money  was  being  spent  for  her 
sake. 

The  long  dearth  she  had  suffered  prevented  her  from 
appreciating  the  value  of  money,  and  whatever  he  put 
into  her  purse  she  handed  out  again  without  hesitation 
to  the  first  beggar  she  met  on  the  street.  Then  again  it 
smote  her  conscience  when  he  gave  a  flower  girl  two  marks 
for  a  rose. 

Once,  upon  her  doing  one  of  these  incredible  things, 
which  usually  sent  the  colonel  into  epicurean  transports, 
he  was  seized  with  sudden  distrust. 

**I  say,  little  girl,*'  he  said,  **are  you  an  actress?" 

Lilly  did  not  even  understand  him.  She  looked  at  him 
with  the  great,  sad  eyes  of  innocence  she  always  made 
on  such  occasions,  and  said: 

**What  are  you  thinking  of!  Since  papa  left  I  haven't 
even  seen  an  actress,  I  hayen't  been  inside  a  theatre 
once," 


The  Song  of  Songs  155 

That  very  day  he  ordered  a  box,  and  she  danced  about 
the  rooms  with  the  tickets  in  her  hand  wild  with  joy. 

But  her  delight  was  dampened  by  his  injunction  to  wear 
evening  dress.  Lilly  could  not  comprehend  why  one 
should  have  to  bare  one's  neck  and  shoulders  in  order  to 
be  edified  by  **The  Winter's  Tale."  Besides,  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  gowns  filled  her  with  discomfort.  She  would 
walk  in  awe  about  the  gleaming  gala  robes  as  circum- 
spectly as  about  a  thicket  of  nettles.  The  colonel  had  had 
them  made  when  in  a  giving  mood,  for  no  real  purpose, 
since  it  was  impossible,  of  course,  for  the  present  to  intro- 
duce Lilly  to  society. 

When  she  appeared  before  him  stiff  and  constrained,  her 
eyes  severely  fixed,  her  cheeks,  however,  glowing  with  the 
fever  of  festivity,  her  delicately  curved  breast  half  con- 
cealed in  a  nest  of  white  lace,  the  fabulously  exquisite 
chain  of  pearls  about  her  swan-like  throat — taller,  lither, 
apparently,  more  of  a  blossoming  Venus  than  ever — the  old 
robber  w^as  seized  by  intoxication  in  the  possession  of  his 
booty,  the  magnificent  gown  came  near  being  consigned  to 
the  w^ardrobe,  and  the  tickets  to  the  waste  basket;  but 
Lilly  begged  so  hard,  that  he  choked  down  his  feelings,  and 
got  into  the  carriage  with  her. 

The  colonel  thought  he  had  long  ago  outlived  the  banal 
delight  of  shining  in  the  eyes  of  strangers.  He  found 
he  was  mistaken.  The  old  bachelor  experienced  a  new, 
unexpected  sensation,  to  which  he  gave  himself  up  dis- 
dainfully, though  feeling  immensely  flattered.  After  a 
time  he  accepted  his  triumph  as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  instant  Lilly  appeared  in  the  box  the  whole  house 
had  eyes  for  her  alone.  The  handsome,  aristocratic 
couple,  whose  very  being  together  aroused  speculation, 
busied  everybody's  imagination,  and  as  soon  as  the  lights 
went  up  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  the  whispering  and 


156  The  Song  of  Songs 

questioning  and  pointing  of  opera  glasses  began  anew. 
Lilly  had  never  before  been  in  a  box,  and  on  entering 
she  had  started  back  instinctively,  feeling  confused  and 
alarmed.  But  accustomed  as  she  now  was  to  implicit  obe- 
dience, she  took  the  chair  to  which  the  colonel  pointed  with-  ( 
out  a  word  of  protest.  When  she  realised  she  was  the 
object  of  general  attention,  the  old  numbness  came  over 
her.  She  felt  as  if  the  woman  sitting  there  speaking  and 
smiling  were  not  herself  but  someone  else  whose  con- 
nection with  her  person  was  purely  accidental. 

She  did  not  awake  from  her  torpor  until  the  hall  was 
thrown  into  darkness  again,  and  the  curtain  went  up. 
Then  the  play  wafted  her  to  the  land  of  the  poet,  breath- 
less, exulting,  dismayed. 

After  this,  two  Lillies  sat  in  her  seat — the  one  in  bliss- 
ful self-forgetfulness  flitting  on  the  rainbow-coloured  wings 
of  childlike  fancy  through  heavens  and  hells;  the  other 
making  precise  gestures  like  a  wound-up  doll,  uncon- 
sciously imitating  the  manners  of  the  well-bred;  at  the 
same  time  feeling  a  strange,  hot,  torturingly  sweet  sensa- 
tion creep  over  her  being :  the  intoxication  of  the  vain. 

The  triumph  he  had  celebrated  in  the  theatre  was  not 
enough  for  the  colonel.  On  returning  to  the  hotel  he  did 
not  have  supper  served  as  usual  in  their  rooms,  but  led 
Lilly  to  the  general  dining  room,  where  a  gypsy  band  was 
playing  and  elegant  folk  of  all  descriptions  were  spreading 
their  peacock  feathers. 

The  game  of  the  box  was  repeated  in  all  but  one  respect. 
Lilly,  carried  away  by  the  dreamy  magic  of  the  violins, 
dropped  some  of  her  coyness.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her 
eyes  swam,  and  stretching  herself  a  bit  she  ventured  to 
take  a  tiny  part  in  the  sport. 

Two  tables  off  sat  a  blond  young  man  in  full  dress — 
white  shirt  front  and  black  tie  like  all  the  others.    He 


The  Song  of  Songs  157 

kept  staring  at  her  with  hot  persistence,  as  if  she  were 
a  strange  animal. 

She  moved  uneasily  under  this  gaze,  which  caressed  and 
gave  hurt,  which  spoke  wild  words  in  a  foreign  tongue,  yet 
was  nothing  else  than  that  sob  of  the  violins  which  fever- 
ishly quivered  through  her  limbs,  up  and  down  her  body. 

Suddenly  her  husband  faced  about  and  surprised  the 
admirer  in  the  very  act.  He  stabbed  him  with  one  of  his 
piercing  glances,  and  soon  the  miscreant  vanished. 

The  colonel's  mood  seemed  to  be  spoiled  somewhat. 

He  said,  ''It's  time  to  go,"  and  led  her  upstairs. 

When  he  had  her  to  himself,  joy  in  his  possession  got 
the  upper  hand  again,  mounting  to  a  sort  of  triumphal 
ecstasy. 

Others  might  pasture  on  the  delights  of  her  evening  at- 
tire; the  winsome  asperity  of  her  childlike  features,  on 
which  life  had  not  yet  left  its  traces,  were  good  enough  for 
display  down  there  in  the  dining  room — off  with  the  pearl 
chain!    Down  with  the  laces! 

He  wanted  her  without  covering  of  any  sort,  wanted  to 
drink  in  with  greedy  eyes  the  secret  of  her  proudly  bloom- 
ing body,  wanted  to  satiate  his  hungry  old  age  with  the 
long-forbidden  charms  of  strange,  stolen  youth. 

Lilly,  helpless,  without  will  of  her  own,  did  what  she  had 
often  done.  In  shame  that  flamed  afresh  each  time,  she 
allowed  him  to  tear  the  last  veil  from  her  body.  She  threw 
herself  on  the  carpet  and  rose  again — she  danced,  she  posed 
as  a  worshipper,  as  a  maiden  in  distress  begging  for  help, 
as  a  Maenad,  a  water-carrier,  a  coquette  laughing  between 
her  fingers — as  anything  he  wished. 

This  evening  there  was  an  additional  something,  which 
burned  in  her  blood  like  venom.  A  diffident  desire,  which 
w»s  really  a  feeling  of  repulsion — a  love  that  clung  to 
him  in  grateful  self-abandon,  while  secretly  hankering  for 


158  The  Song  of  Songs 

something  else — for  the  sobbing  of  violins  and  the  hiss  of 
conflagrations,  a  purple  heaven  dotted  with  stars,  and  the 
deadly  sweet  yearning  that  dwelt  in  Hermione. 

When  he  had  had  his  fill  of  the  spectacle — and  this  came 
soon  because  of  his  years — he  made  her  don  the  loose 
gauze  shirt  worked  with  silver  thread  with  which  he  had 
presented  her  at  the  very  beginning  of  their  stay  in  Dres- 
den. Before  he  went  to  sleep  she  always  had  to  dance 
in  it  a  while.  Although  the  metal  woof  was  icy  cold  and 
pricked  like  needles,  she  soon  became  accustomed  to  it, 
since  his  will  was  her  law.  Then,  while  she  sat  beside 
him  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  he  smoked  a  cigarette  in  bed, 
and  laughingly  retailed  smutty  jokes;  which  he  called, 
**  singing  his  baby  to  sleep.  ^* 

Henceforth  it  was  the  colonel's  pleasure  to  take  meals 
in  the  common  dining  room.  He  wanted  to  re-experience 
the  prickly  delight  of  seeing  his  young  wife  admired  and 
regarded  with  desirous  eyes.  The  value  of  his  property 
seemed  to  be  enhanced  in  the  degree  in  which  people 
smiled,  and  envied  him  the  possession  of  it. 

As  for  Lilly,  she  always  took  interest  in  perceiving  the 
drunken  sensations  of  that  evening  arise  in  her  again. 
"With  drooping  lids  she  might  feel  the  silent  flame  of  hope- 
less desire  burn  in  so  many  hot  young  eyes  round  about. 
And,  carried  away  by  the  lamentations  of  the  violins  and 
the  hymns  of  the  cymbals,  she  might  flee  to  those  dark  and 
blessed  distances  to  which  the  way  had  been  barred — she 
did  not  know  by  what — since  the  hour  her  great  happiness 
had  come  to  her. 

Never  did  she  permit  it  even  to  occur  to  her  to  return 
one  of  the  glances  that  forced  themselves  upon  her  by  so 
much  as  the  quiver  of  her  lids.  The  young  men  remained 
mere  figurants  on  her  stage,  as  necessary  as  the  othc*' 
accessories,  the  lights,  the  music,  the  flowers  on  the  white 


The  Song  of  Songs  159 

napery,  and  the  cigarette  smoke  ascending  to  the  ceiling 
in  blue  spirals. 

Nevertheless  it  happened  that  one  day  while  she  was 
walking  along  the  street  on  her  husband's  arm  a  look 
pierced  to  her  heart. 

It  came  from  a  pair  of  dark  eyes,  which  from  afar  had 
been  turned  on  her  in  a  friendly,  searching  manner.  On 
coming  nearer  they  flared  up,  as  with  a  flash  of  recogni- 
tion, into  a  sad  fire. 

She  felt  as  if  she  would  have  to  hurry  after  the  passerby 
and  ask: 

**Who  are  you?  Do  you  belong  to  me?  Do  you  wish 
me  to  belong  to  you?*' 

She  was  incautious  enough  to  turn  around  and  look  back 
at  him. 

For  only  the  fraction  of  a  second! 

But  the  incident  had  not  escaped  her  husband.  When 
she  faced  about  again,  she  saw  his  vigilant  eyes  resting 
upon  her  in  distrust. 

And  he  nodded  several  times  as  if  to  say : 

**Aha!    That's  the  point  we've  gotten  to  already,  is  it?" 

He  remained  absorbed  and  ill-tempered  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

That  encounter  was  only  the  first  of  an  endless  series 
for  Lilly. 

To  be  sure,  she  never  met  the  same  young  man  again, 
despite  her  diligent  watch  for  him;  but  a  host  of  others 
took  his  place. 

Passersby  no  longer  remained  mere  figures  in  a  dissolv- 
ing view,  through  whom  one  looked  as  if  they  were  non- 
existent. Whten  she  saw  a  slim  man  at  a  distance  whose 
contour  and  bearing  appeared  youthful  she  wondered 
while  waiting  for  him  to  draw  near: 

*'What  wll  he  be  like?    Will  he  look  at  me?" 


160  The  Song  of  Songs 

If  he  found  favour  in  her  eyes,  and  if  his  glance  was  not 
impudent,  yet  was  full  of  astonishment  or  desire,  she 
would  often  feel  a  pang,  which  said  to  her: 

**You  suit  him  far  better  than  this  old  man  at  whose 
side  you  are  walking. '^ 

And  each  occurrence  saddened  her. 

It  saddened  her  also  if  one  she  was  pleased  with  hap- 
pened to  pay  no  attention  to  her. 

**I'm  not  good  enough  for  him,"  she  would  think.  **He 
scorns  me.     I  wonder  why  he  scorns  me. ' ' 

In  the  dining  room,  on  the  Briihlsche  Terrasse,  and  at 
other  elegant  places  where  there  is  a  constant  crossfire  of 
furtive  glances,  her  bearing  in  its  relation  to  her  environ- 
ment began  gradually  to  change.  She  acknowledged  the 
incense  offered  her  by  a  little  grateful  uplift  of  her  eyes, 
and  she  looked  without  embarrassment  directly  into  the 
faces  of  the  scrutinising  ladies;  and  although  she  had  the 
keen  vision  of  a  falcon,  she  would  gladly  have  turned  a 
lorgnette  on  them.  But  of  this  she  did  not  venture  to 
breathe  a  word  to  the  colonel. 

She  was  often  tormented  by  the  desire  to  bury  her  eyes 
in  those  of  the  man  looking  at  her,  without  decorum, 
without  fear,  without  reserve — just  as  he  was  doing.  It 
would  have  been  a  mystic  union  of  souls  which  would  do 
her  endless  good.  Of  this  she  no  longer  harboured  a  doubt. 
She  was  starving,  starving,  starving — as  she  had  never 
starved  in  her  life. 

The  colonel  seemed  not  to  notice  in  the  least  what  was 
going  on  in  her,  though  a  state  of  bitter  warfare  existed 
between  him  and  all  whose  glances  besieged  her.  The 
eyes  of  the  old  Ulan  were  ever  on  the  lookout,  and  the  one 
who  was  too  persistent,  ardent  or  melancholy  was  stabbed 
with  a  dart  from  his  eyes. 

It  happened,  however,  that  some  paid  no'  attentfion  to 


The  Song  of  Songs  161 

his  threats,  and  even  had  the  audacity  to  return  what 
they  received  with  raised  brows.  This  would  cause  him 
uneasiness.  He  would  play  with  his  card  case  and  begin 
to  write  something,  then  put  the  pencil  back  into  his 
pocket,  and,  as  a  rule,  wind  up  with: 

*'It  seems  to  me  weVe  strayed  into  bad  company.  We'd 
better  be  going.'' 

Despite  his  uncomfortable  experiences  he  could  not  get 
himself  to  live  alone  again  with  his  young  wife.  Habitu- 
ated from  youth  up  to  motley  associations,  he  required 
noise  and  light  and  laughter.  But  his  suspicions  waxed, 
and  finally  fastened  upon  Lilly,  too. 

He  forbade  the  matinal  visit  to  church,  to  which  she 
clung  so  ardently. 

What  she  had  done,  following  a  mere  impulse,  after  the 
first  awaking  at  his  side,  had  by  and  by  become  a  custom ; 
and  while  he  slept  his  profound  sleep  she  dressed  without 
making  a  sound  and  slipped  out  into  the  freshness  of 
early  morning. 

Going  to  church  served  as  a  pretext. 

Generally  all  she  did  was  dip  her  fingers  in  the  holy 
water  and  make  her  three  genuflections.  Sometimes  she 
even  contented  herself,  untroubled  by  scruples,  with  merely 
passing  the  church. 

For  here  was  an  hour  of  golden  liberty,  the  only  one 
throughout  the  day. 

First  she  hastened  to  the  Augustus  bridge  to  offer  her 
breast  to  the  winds  always  blowing  there  and  watch  the 
waters  course  by  far  below.  Then  she  walked  along  the 
banks  of  the  river,  usually  at  a  wild  pace,  in  order  to 
gather  in  as  large  a  harvest  of  pictures  and  incidents  as 
possible  before  creeping  back  to  her  husband's  home. 

Everything  the  hour  brought  was  pregnant  with  signifi^ 
cance. 


162  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  early  morning  mist  lying  red  on  the  hills  and  de- 
scending to  the  river  in  golden  ribbons ;  the  chorus  of  the 
bells  in  the  Altstadt ;  the  first  timid  bursting  of  the  boughs 
already  russet  with  sap ;  the  joggling  carts  on  their  way  to 
market;  the  hissing  and  sparking  of  the  swaying  wires 
when  the  trolley-pole  of  an  electric  tram  swept  along  un- 
derneath them — all  this  was  joy,  it  was  life. 

Since  she  was  not  threatened  with  a  gift  in  consequence 
she  ventured  also  to  look  into  shop-windows,  and  greedily, 
in  amazement,  devoured  every  morsel  of  art. 

An  end  to  all  this  from  now  on ! 

The  gates  suddenly  swung  shut  through  which  she  had 
escaped  for  a  single  hour  her  perfumed  life-prison  over- 
heated by  desire  and  indolence. 

But  she  was  so  soft  and  pliant  that  she  yielded  without 
a  murmur  even  in  her  innermost  being. 

It  was  his  wish — ^that  was  sufficient. 

Such  a  quantity  of  love  lay  fallow  in  her  soul  and  cried 
for  activity  that  in  this  time  of  inner  conflicts  she  prof- 
fered him  a  double  measure  of  tenderness.  She  had  to, 
whether  she  wished  to  or  not,  whether  her  thoughts  dwelled 
with  him  or  glided  off  on  the  viewless  path  of  dreams. 

She  was  his  slave,  his  plaything,  his  audience;  she 
dressed  him,  admired  his  good  looks,  rubbed  his  hips  with 
ointment,  adjusted  the  hare's  skin  about  his  loins  to  pro- 
tect him  against  his  gout;  brought  him  his  sodium  car- 
bonate when  he  had  eaten  too  much ;  massaged  his  grizzled 
head  with  hair  tonic,  the  pungent  perfume  of  which  nause- 
ated her,  and  stood  by  to  help  and  advise  when  he  trimmed 
his  moustache. 

She  did  it  all  with  eager  devotion  and  ingenuous  con- 
fidence, as  if  in  ministering  to  her  husband  she  had  found 
the  end  and  aim  of  her  existence. 


THe  Song  of  Songs  163 

Neverthei^s  he  lost  his  supernatural,  god-like  qualities 
in  her  eyes,  became  nothing  more  to  her  than  a  man,^ 
knightly  to  be  sure,  but  whimsical  and  vain;  for  all  his' 
mental  force  intellectually  indolent;  for  all  his  sensitive- 
ness utterly  brutal,  and  for  all  his  thirst  for  love  an  oldish 
man,  whose  powers  had  long  been  enervated. 

Not  that  she  ever  put  it  in  this  way  to  herself. 

Had  she  seen  his  characteristics  so  clearly  she  might 
have  come  to  hate  and  scorn  him;  for  she  was  too  imma- 
ture to  know  that  the  witch 's  cauldron  of  worldly  life  brews 
the  same  out  of  most  men's  souls,  provided  the  great  feel- 
ings grow  grey  along  with  a  man's  hair,  and  he  has  erected 
no  altar  for  himself  at  which  he  may  seek  refuge  while 
sacrificing  to  it. 

But  the  picture  her  fancy  had  made  of  him  shifted  and 
changed  colours  from  day  to  day,  taking  on  now  one  aspect, 
now  the  reverse,  until  a  little  pity  mingled  with  her  terri- 
fied respect,  and  her  childlike  relation  to  him  was  tinged 
by  a  certain  motherliness,  which  would  have  been  ridicu- 
lous had  it  not  had  its  roots  in  the  unfailing  warmness  of 
her  heart,  which  transmuted  another's  weakness  into  cause 
for  her  solicitude. 

Oh,  if  only  she  had  not  had  to  starve  so ! 

Starve,  when  sitting  at  a  festive  board  each  day  decked 
anew  with  choice  viands. 

Every  morning  Lilly  eagerly  read  the  theatrical  and 
musical  announcements  posted  in  the  hotel  lobby,  only  to 
be  drawn  away  swiftly  by  the  colonel,  who  in  his  little 
garrison  town  had  lost  all  interest  in  the  arts.  For  lack 
of  exercise  his  organs  for  perceiving  and  enjoying  had 
lost  their  functions,  and  he  shrank  back  petulantly  from 
the  intellectual  work  she  expected  of  him. 

firerything  in  which  he  took  pleasure,  the  exaggerated 


164  The  Song  of  Songs 

gaiety  of  the  music  halls,  the  display  of  physical  strength 
and  agility,  the  loud  colours,  soon  became  an  abomination 
to  Lilly  after  her  first  curiosity  had  been  stilled. 

Wild  horses,  the  colonel  said,  could  not  drag  him  to 
Shakespeare  or  Wagner  again,  then  certainly  not  to  a  con- 
cert, the  object  of  Lilly's  profoundest  cravings. 

One  day  she  saw  an  announcement  of  the  Fifth  Sym- 
phony, which  was  bound  to  her  childhood  days  by  a  thou- 
sand ties.  She  maintained  silence,  as  was  proper;  but 
when  she  reached  their  room  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed 
and  cried  bitterly.  He  questioned;  she  confessed.  With 
a  bored  laugh  he  made  the  sacrifice  and  took  her  to  the 
concert. 

She  had  not  been  at  a  concert  since  her  father's  last 
performance. 

When  she  entered  she  trembled,  and  suppressing  her 
tears,  drew  the  air  in  through  her  nose. 

**You  snufile  like  a  horse  when  he  smells  oats,"  joked  the 
colonel. 

*' Don't  you  notice  there's  the  same  atmosphere  at  all 
concerts?"  she  asked  in  a  joyous  tremour.  *'Our  concert 
hall  at  home  smelt  just  like  this." 

But  he  had  not  noticed  the  similarity  of  smell,  and  he 
did  not  recall  the  Fifth  Symphony. 

**Such  matters — "  he  began. 

She  was  indifferent  to  all  that  preceded  the  symphony. 
She  wanted  to  hear  nothing  but  that  trumpet  call  of  fate- 
which  had  once  filled  her,  when  just  blossoming  into  wom- 
anhood, with  a  shudder  of  foreboding. 

The  call  came  and  knocked  at  people's  hearts,  and  set 
the  knees  of  all  those  a-tremble  who,  companions  and  fel- 
low-combatants, filled  with  the  same  fear  and  the  same 
impotence,  writhed  like  worms  under  the  blows  of  fate. 

Her  husband  amusedly  hummed: 


The  Song  of  Songs  165 

''Ti-ti-ti-tum,  ti-ti-ti-tum/ '  That  was  all  he  understood 
of  it. 

Turning  about  softly  to  urge  him  if  possible  to  keep 
still,  she  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  profusion  of  yellowish- 
grey  hair  growing  in  his  ear.     It  disgusted  her. 

*  *  If  he  has  hair  in  his  ears,  * '  she  thought,  as  though  that 
were  the  reason  of  his  deafness  to  music.  A  profound 
despondency  seized  her.  Never  again  would  she  rejoice 
in  the  beautiful,  never  again  stretch  arms  in  prayer  to 
wrestling  heroism,  never  again  quench  her  thirst  for  a 
higher,  purer  life  at  the  sources  of  enthusiasm. 

Between  her  and  all  that  stood  this  man,  who  sang  **ti- 
ti-ti-tum,'^  and  in  whose  ears  there  was  a  little  bush  of 
hair. 

The  soft  consolation  of  the  violins  died  away  unheard, 
the  melancholy  acquiescence  of  the  andante  found  no  echo 
in  her  soul,  and  the  triumphant  jubilation  of  the  finale — it 
brought  her  no  triumph. 

Tortured,  debased,  undone  in  her  own  eyes,  she  left  the 
hall  at  the  side  of  her  yawning  husband. 

But  her  vital  energy  was  too  sound,  her  belief  in  the 
sunniness  of  human  existence  too  lively  to  permit  her  to 
succumb  to  such  moods. 

Moreover,  an  event  occurred  which  lent  new  wings  to 
her  being  and  flushed  her  with  the  intoxication  of  bold 
hopes.' 

Though  little  was  said  about  plans  for  the  immediate 
future,  it  was  settled  that  they  should  remain  in  Dresden, 
or  some  other  large  city,  until  May,  and  then  go  to  Castle 
Lischnitz,  where  the  household,  as  always  in  the  master's 
absence,  was  conducted  by  the  oft-mentioned  Miss  Anna 
von  Schwertfeger. 

The  colonel,  forever  hovering  between  trust  and  dis- 
trust of  his  young  wife,  was  seized  one  evening  by  a  fresh 


166  The  Song  of  Songs 

attack  of  doubts,  and  tried  to  get  a  view  down  to  the  bot- 
tom of  her  soul  by  questioning  her  as  to  how  often  and 
whom  she  had  loved  before  she  met  him. 

Unsuspecting  as  always,  Lilly  blurted  out  her  two  little 
experiences. 

She  told  of  Fritz  Redlich  first — because  that  had  been 
the  greater  love — and  then  of  the  poor,  consumptive 
teacher. 

Despite  his  petty  misgivings  her  husband  ^s  judgment 
had  remained  clear  enough  to  appreciate  the  trustful  pur- 
ity of  her  conscience,  and  he  sent  his  doubts  to  the  devil 
with  the  laugh  he  usually  reserved  for  his  vulgar  jokes. 

But  Lilly  wanted  to  see  his  emotions  stirred,  and  warm- 
ing up  over  her  own  words,  she  described  the  lessons  on 
the  history  of  art  and  told  of  the  yearnings  to  see  Italy 
which  the  poor  moribund  had  enkindled  in  her  with  the 
flame  burning  in  his  own  heart. 

Her  cheeks  glowed,  her  eyes  swam  beneath  lids  drooping 
as  if  with  the  weight  of  wine ;  she  dreamed  and  f antasied, 
and  scarcely  heeded  his  presence. 

Suddenly  he  asked: 

*'How  would  it  be — would  you  like  to  go  there?*' 

Lilly  did  not  reply.     That  was  too  much  bliss. 

He  began  to  consider  the  matter  seriously.  Instead  of 
poking  in  one  place  and  vexing  himself  over  all  sorts  of 
stupid  people,  a  man  might  just  as  well  take  a  seat  in  a 
railroad  coach  and  make  a  short  day's  run  down  to  Ve- 
rona or  Milan. 

She  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck,  she  threw  herself  at 
his  feet— it  ims  too  much  bliss. 

Life  now  became  absolutely  unreal,  a  constant  change 
from  ecstasy  to  anxiety  and  back  again,  because  something 
might  intervene  to  prevent  the  trip. 

First  of  all  he  had  to  have  a  pair  of  knickerbockers  and 


The  Song  of  Songs  167 

a  Norfolk  jacket,  such  as  every  aristocratic  traveller  wears. 
Then  there  were  a  dozen  other  hindrances. 

The  fact  was,  he  probably  felt  he  had  grown  too  un- 
wieldy to  keep  pace  with  her  in  her  ability  to  enjoy  her- 
self.    But  something  occurred  to  hasten  their  departure. 

The  last  few  days,  the  colonel  noticed,  they  had  been 
followed  by  a  pale,  bull-necked  individual,  six  feet  tall, 
who  tried  with  stupid  pertinacity  to  attract  Lilly's  atten- 
tion. 

To  judge  by  the  man's  appearance  he  was  a  tourist  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  His  manners  indicated  a  certain 
loftiness,  and  the  colonel's  threatening  looks  glanced  from 
him  without  leaving  the  faintest  trace. 

Lilly  saw  her  husband  fall  for  the  first  time  into  a  last- 
ing mood  of  thoughtfulness.  He  paced  up  and  down 
the  room,  repeatedly  muttering: 

**I'll  have  to  box  his  ears,"  or  **I'll  have  to  look  for  a 
second." 

The  next  day,  when  the  colonel  observed  the  importunate 
person  trotting  about  ten  feet  behind  them,  he  veered  about 
suddenly  and  accosted  him. 

The  blond  Titan  looked  him  up  and  down  without  so 
much  as  removing  the  short  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

**I  may  look  at  anyone  I  want  to,  and  I  may  go  anywhere 
I  want  to,"  he  declared. 

"With  that  he  slightly  shoved  up  the  sleeves  of  his  over- 
coat and  struck  a  boxing  attitude,  which,  foreboding  a 
street  row,  stifled  all  desire  for  a  knightly  mode  of  chas- 
tisement. 

The  colonel  in  a  final  attempt  to  settle  the  matter  in 
an  honourable  fashion  handed  the  stranger  his  visiting  card, 
which  was  received  with  a  friendly  ** Thank  you,  sir." 
And  the  colonel's  opponent  stuck  the  card  in  his  pocket 
evidently  without  the  least  inkling  of  the  ominous  import 


168  The  Song  of  Songs 

of  the  formality.  Passersby  began  to  gather  and  there 
was  nothing  left  for  the  colonel  to  do  but  turn  his  back. 

The  upshot  of  the  rencontre  was  that  the  Englishman 
now  assumed  the  right  to  honour  Lilly  and  her  husband 
with  a  greeting,  and  the  colonel,  who  tried  to  drown  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  made  himself  ridiculous  in  a  torrent 
of  oaths,  decided  to  leave  Dresden  immediately.  This  was 
about  the  middle  of  April. 

In  Munich,  where  they  stopped  off  a  few  days  to  ren- 
der homage  to  the  Hofbrauhaus,  nothing  especial  occurred. 

But  the  colonel  had  grown  nervous.  He  cast  challeng- 
ing, pugnacious  looks  at  the  most  harmless  admirers  and 
began  to  heap  reproaches  on  Lilly's  head.  **It  seems,''  he 
would  say,  *' everybody  can  tell  at  a  glance  that  you  are 
no  lady;  otherwise  you  would  not  be  the  object  of  such  a 
number  of  indelicate  attentions." 

At  any  other  time  Lilly  would  have  grieved  bitterly. 
Now  she  listened  to  him  with  an  absent  smile  on  her  lips. 
Her  soul  no  longer  dwelt  on  German  soil.  She  was  breath- 
ing the  air  of  the  beloved  country  on  whose  threshold,  she 
thought,  she  was  already  standing. 

One  night's  ride  still,  a  short  day  in  Bozen,  and  then 
the  gates  would  open. 

Now  nothing  could  intervene. 

It  was  in  a  section  of  the  express  that  leaves  Munich 
late  in  the  evening  and  crosses  the  Brenner  Pass  in  the 
dusk  of  early  morning.  Lilly  and  her  husband  sat  in  the 
seats  by  the  window.  The  seat  next  to  the  corridor  had 
been  taken  by  a  young  man,  who  on  assuming  it  had  sa- 
luted the  other  occupants  with  a  smile,  and  then  paying 
no  further  attention  to  them  had  become  engrossed  in  a 
book  written,  apparently,  in  Italian. 

So  he  was  an  Italian,  a  messenger  from  Paradise,  who 


The  Song  of  Songs  169 

had  come  to  bid  them  welcome.    That  was  enough  to  en- 
sure Lilly  ^s  interest. 

She  regarded  him  from  under  lids  to  all  appearances 
closed  in  sleep. 

He  had  a  clear-cut,  high-spirited  face  of  a  peculiar, 
milky  yellow  tint,  without  lines  or  shadows,  as  smooth  as  if 
enameled.  A  small,  dark  moustache,  somewhat  crispy,  and 
the  hair  on  the  temples  cropped  so  close  that  the  skin  shone 
beneath. 

Lilly  wanted  to  see  his  eyes,  too,  but  he  kept  them  ob- 
stinately bent  on  his  book,  though  he  seemed  merely  to  be 
skimming  through  it. 

What  she  admired  most  was  the  peculiar  roundness  and 
softness  of  his  movements.  You  might  suppose  a  woman 
was  clothed  in  that  black  and  white  checked  suit,  which 
attracted  her  by  its  unusually  aristocratic  appearance. 
The  silk  shirt  was  violet  and  dark  red,  and  a  green  necktie 
was  tied  carelessly  about  the  soft  collar. 

All  these  colours,  strange  as  they  looked,  went  so  well 
together  and  seemed  to  have  been  selected  with  so  much 
care  and  refinement  of  taste,  that  Lilly  grew  quite  un- 
comfortable. She  almost  felt  the  young  stranger  was  try- 
ing to  force  himself  upon  her  by  his  manner  and  bearing 
and  dress,  and  above  all  by  his  ostensible  disregard  of  her. 

It  was  ridiculous;  she  was  afraid  of  him. 

When  the  customs  officers  entered  the  compartment  at 
the  Austrian  frontier  he  uttered  a  few  strange-sounding 
words,  which  the  officers  understood,  for  they  turned  away 
from  him  with  deep  bows. 

At  that  moment  he  raised  his  eyes  and  let  them  rove  about 
the  compartment;  and  while  the  colonel  was  opening  his 
bag  they  rested  for  an  instant,  as  if  by  chance,  upon  Lilly. 

What  singular  eyes  he  had ! 

They  sent  out  sharp  rays  like  black  diamonds,  yet  they 


170  The  Song  of  Songs 

gave  a  caress,  a  wicked,  sure  caress,  which  asked  impa- 
tient questions,  questions  that  made  one  blush. 

The  next  instant  nothing  had  happened.  He  was  bend- 
ing over  his  book  as  before  and  seemed  not  to  notice  her. 

But  her  husband  scrutinised  her  with  watchful  cunning, 
as  if  he  had  found  a  something  in  her  face  for  which  he 
had  long  been  searching  there. 

When  the  train  started  again  the  colonel  disposed  him- 
self to  sleep.  For  the  sake  of  greater  comfort  he  chose 
the  unoccupied  seat  next  to  the  corridor.  The  stranger 
in  order  not  to  be  opposite  him  instinctively  moved  nearer 
to  the  centre,  by  this  greatly  diminishing  the  distance  be- 
tween Lilly  and  himself.  A  little  more  and  he  would 
have  been  sitting  directly  face  to  face  with  her. 

If  she  had  harboured  an  arriere  pensee,  she  would  have 
bestowed  more  attention  upon  her  husband's  sleep.  But 
all  her  senses  were  engaged  in  the  desire  to  avoid  the 
stranger,  whose  proximity  pricked  her  with  a  thousand 
needles. 

She  pressed  close  into  her  corner,  and  spasmodically 
stared  out  of  the  window,  where  the  illuminated  interior 
of  the  coach  was  reproduced  on  the  black  background  as 
in  a  dark  mirror. 

Thus  she  could  observe  the  stranger  quietly,  without  his 
catching  her  in  an  occasional  raising  of  her  lids. 

The  light  of  the  ceiling  lamp  sharply  lit  up  his  smooth, 
soft  cheeks,  whose  even  sheen  merged  into  bluish  darkness 
at  the  temple,  a  cheek  formed  for  pressure  and  petting. 
To  let  your  hand  stray  over  it  gently  must  be  a  great  de- 
light. 

And  what  long,  dark  lashes  he  had,  longer  than  her  own. 
Their  shadow  formed  dark  semicircles  reaching  to  the 
finely  cut  nostrils. 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 


The  Song  of  Songs  171 

There  it  was  again,  that  black-diamond,  caressing  gleam, 
cold,  yet  how  seductive ! 

She  started  in  fright,  and  grew  still  more  frightened 
at  the  thought  that  he  might  have  noticed  her  fear. 

He  smiled  a  very,  very  faint  smile  and  continued  to 
read. 

Her  fancy  wove  more  and  more  anxious,  flattering 
thoughts  about  him,  thoughts  tantamount  to  a  crime, 
which  weighed  upon  her  like  a  nightmare  of  which  she 
could  not  rid  herself. 

Suddenly — an  icy  stream  poured  over  her  heart — she 
felt  a  soft,  tender  pressure  on  her  left  foot,  which  she 
must  have  moved  nearer  to  the  centre  quite  involuntarily, 
for  only  a  short  time  before  it  had  been  close  against  her 
right  foot,  and  her  right  foot  touched  the  outer  wall  of 
the  compartment. 

"What  should  she  do? 

A  rebuking  **I  beg  pardon!'^  an  angry  flaring  up, 
would  have. roused  the  colonel  and  given  occasion  again  for 
suspicion,  perhaps  even  for  an  encounter.  So  she  slowly 
withdrew  her  foot,  using  the  utmost  caution,  and  pressed 
it  against  the  wall  to  prove  to  herself  she  had  rescued  it. 

But  those  few  moments  of  hesitation,  she  knew  it  well, 
had  made  her  particeps  criminis,  and  this  consciousness 
tormented  her  as  the  thought  tantamount  to  a  crime,  which 
she  had  permitted  to  obsess  her  before. 

Dishonoured,  besmirched,  she  seemed  to  herself,  a  prey  to 
each  and  any  man  that  waylaid  her  path. 

Why  find  fault  with  him?  The  thing  he  had  impu- 
dently desired,  was  it  not  the  fulfillment  of  her  own  im- 
pure wishes? 

This  notion  fairly  stifled  her.  She  wanted  to  jump  up, 
cry  aloud,  and  beg  for  forgiveness.  The  stranger  con- 
tinued to  read  quietly,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 


172  The  Song  of  Songs 

When  Lilly  started  out  of  a  state  of  wakeful  torpor  a 
grey  day  was  peering  in  through  the  window.  She  saw 
a  foaming  torrent  tumbling  into  depths  below,  and  be- 
yond gigantic  green  masses  towering  into  the  heavens.  It 
was  a  picture  she  had  seen  only  in  her  dreams,  convincing 
in  its  greatness,  dwarfing  all  else  with  its  might. 

What  she  had  experienced  before  falling  asleep  was 
now  a  grotesque  dream  and  had  lost  its  vital  essence. 

She  looked  about  the  compartment  cautiously. 

The  stranger  was  lying  stretched  out  in  repulsive  sleep. 
His  cheeks  swelled  and  sank  as  he  puffed  heavily.  He 
looked  sallow  and  effeminate,  and  disgusted  her. 

She  turned  more  to  the  side  and  suddenly  saw  her  hus- 
band's wide-open  eyes  resting  upon  her  with  a  rigid,  chas- 
tising look.     She  started  as  if  caught  in  guilt. 

''Are  you  awake  already?"  she  asked  with  a  constrained 
smile. 

**I  didn't  sleep  a  wink  all  night,*'  he  replied. 

Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  set  her  a-tremble. 
It  was  both  a  rebuke  and  a  sentence. 

And  how  he  looked  at  her ! 

They  rode  on  without  speaking.  Lilly  utterly  disre- 
garded the  stranger. 

At  the  hotel  in  Bozen  the  colonel  entered  Lilly's  room 
and  said : 

*'My  dear  child,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  am 
tired  of  the  annoyances  to  which  we  are  subjected  day 
after  day.  To  what  extent  your  appearance  and  conduct 
are  to  blame,  or  to  what  extent  my  age  is  the  cause,  I  will 
not  discuss.  However  that  may  be,  I  do  not  reproach  you 
with  gross  infringement  of  the  laws  of  duty  or  good  taste. 
And  I  may  not  demand  a  grande  darnels  matter-of-course 
reserve  of  one  who  two  or  three  weeks  ago  was  serving  be- 
hind a  counter.    T  o  teach  you  propriety  requires  time,  and 


The  Song  of  Songs  173 

it  is  a  matter  that  I  may  leave  entirely  without  qualms  of 
any  sort  to  Miss  von  Schwertfeger.  We  will  take  the  noon 
train  back  to  Germany  and  we  will  reach  Lischnitz  day 
after  to-morrow  in  the  evening,  perhaps  earlier  in  the 
day/' 

Lilly  did  not  even  grieve,  she  felt  so  humiliated  and 
bruised. 

And  the  land  of  her  dreams  sank  below  the  horizon. 


CHAPTER  XV 

They  reached  Lischnitz  late  Saturday  night.  Since  the 
colonel  had  prohibited  a  formal  reception,  all  Lilly  could 
see  of  the  castle  and  outbuildings  were  black  shadowy 
masses,  which  the  veiled  moon  painted  light  on  the  edges. 

A  couple  of  servant  maids  stood  on  the  steps  holding 
lanterns,  and  a  very  slim  lady  with  a  wasp-like  waist  and 
a  halo  of  red  hair  streaked  with  white  put  a  pair  of  long, 
extremely  thin  arms  about  Lilly  ^s  neck,  and  in  a  melan- 
choly, cracked  voice  spoke  motherly  words  of  welcome, 
which,  though  intended  to  bring  about  a  speedy  friend- 
ship between  them,  intimidated  Lilly  and  inspired  her 
with  dread. 

Overcome  with  weariness,  Lilly  sank  into  a  swelling 
white  bed,  with  gleaming  brass  rods  draped  in  light  blue 
ribbons,  the  bows  of  which  perched  there  like  great  exotic 
butterflies. 

It  was  these  butterflies  which  the  next  morning  carried 
her  from  a  doze  into  full  wakefulness,  into  the  new  exist- 
ence. 

From  the  ceiling  hung  a  gilded  lamp  with  opaline  shades 
and  blue  silk  covers  over  the  shades.  A  white-enamelled 
wainscoting  about  four  or  five  feet  high  ran  about  the 
entire  room,  and  the  walls  between  the  wainscoting  and 
the  ceiling  were  panelled  in  silk  of  the  same  light  blue  as 
the  counterpane  and  scarfs  set  in  frames  of  white  enamel. 

All  this  was  revealed  by  a  beam  of  light,  which  came  in 
through  the  narrow  space  between  the  curtains  and  threw 

174 


The  Song  of  Songs  175 

a  shining  bridge  across  the  Persian  carpet  of  a  yellowish 
colour  intertwined  with  blue. 

Joyfully  Lilly  sprang  out  of  bed  and  trod  on  the  car- 
pet, which  seemed  to  ripple  in  waves,  so  soft  and  long  was 
its  nap. 

Nothing  of  the  colonel  was  to  be  seen  or  heard. 

Long  before,  he  had  told  Lilly  his  bedroom  would  be 
apart  from  hers.  **But  it  cannot  be  far  off,"  she  thought; 
**it  must  be  on  the  other  side  of  that  shining  white  carved 
door.'' 

Opening  it  softly  she  peeped  into  the  next  room. 

The  window  curtains  had  scarcely  been  drawn  aside. 
The  bed,  a  huge  piece  of  dark  mahogany,  was  empty, 
though  the  crushed  sheets  and  pillows  testified  to  its  hav- 
ing been  occupied.  There  were  engravings  of  racers  on 
the  wall,  tall  boots,  whips,  pistols,  some  uniforms,  and  on 
the  round  side-table  a  rack  for  pipes,  and  next  to  the  bed 
the  tube  of  gout  ointment.  So,  the  evening  before,  though 
it  was  her  sacred  duty  to  massage  him,  he  had  treacher- 
ously done  it  himself. 

She  felt  hurt,  and  then  a  little  shudder  ran  through  her. 
It  was  all  so  strange  and  hard,  as  if  mysterious  threats 
were  lurking  somewhere. 

She  hastily  shut  the  door  and  retreated  into  her  sky-blue 
silk  realm. 

Her  room  had  two  other  doors,  one  of  which  opened  on 
the  corridor.  This  was  the  one  through  which  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  had  led  her  in  the  night  before. 

Lilly  shuddered  again.  Without  question,  without  ask- 
ing permission,  the  thin,  melancholy  person  of  the  extinct 
eyes  and  commanding  manners  had  taken  possession  of 
Lilly.  The  colonel  and  his  housekeeper  had  exchanged 
a  glance,  a  brief  glance  of  mutual  understanding,  which, 
on  the  colonel's  part,  said; 


176  The  Song  of  Songs 

**I  put  her  into  your  charge.'* 

And  Lilly  was  thrown  on  Miss  von  Schwertfeger*s 
mercy. 

The  lady,  to  be  sure,  had  afterward  tried  to  insinuate 
herself  into  Lilly's  good  graces  by  calling  her  pet  names 
and  embracing  her,  and  with  her  own  hands  bringing  the 
comforting  cup  of  tea  to  Lilly's  bedside.  But  a  voice 
within  Lilly,  who  usually  flew  to  meet  everybody,  whether 
man  or  woman,  with  expectant  trustfulness,  had  called  to 
her: 

*'Be  on  your  guard." 

While  staring  at  the  door  which  the  spidery  fingers  had 
thrown  open  for  her  the  night  before  and  faint-heartedly 
recalling  the  incidents  of  the  arrival,  Lilly  was  over- 
powered, there  in  the  midst  of  her  gay  glory,  by  a  feel- 
ing of  strangeness  and  solitude,  which  nearly  broke  her 
heart. 

She  rapidly  put  on  the  morning  gown,  which  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  must  have  unpacked  and  hung  next  to  Lilly's 
bed  after  she  had  fallen  asleep. 

The  third  door  had  still  to  be  investigated.  Lilly  hoped 
it  would  lead  out  into  the  open. 

She  cautiously  turned  the  knob  and  drew  back  with  a 
little  cry.    What  she  saw  fairly  dazzled  her. 

A  small  room  flooded  with  sunlight  and  filled  with 
flowers  smiled  at  her  like  a  tiny  paradise.  Azaleas  as  tall 
as  a  man  spread  their  rosy  coronets  over  a  much-becush- 
ioned  couch.  And  there  was  a  dear  little  secretaire  inlaid 
with  mother-of-pearl  and  tortoise  shell,  over  the  top  of 
which  a  palm  placidly  waved  its  flattering  fronds.  But 
that  was  by  no  means  the  most  beautiful  thing.  The  most 
beautiful  thing  was  the  toilet  table,  which  sent  a  lovely, 
shamefaced  greeting  to  her  from  the  corner  where  it  stood. 
It  was  draped  with  white  lace  and  the  surface  was  cov- 


The  Song  of  Songs  177 

ered  with  a  large,  smooth,  even-edged  plate  of  glass.  The 
mirror  was  tall  and  composed  of  three  adjustable  faces, 
so  that  you  could  see  yourself  on  all  sides — the  hair  at 
the  back  of  your  neck,  the  fastening  of  your  dress,  every- 
thing. 

Lilly  had  long  desired  such  a  mirror,  but  had  not  dared 
to  ask  for  it. 

The  room,  doubtless,  was  her  ''boudoir/' 

She,  Lilly  Czepanek,  owned  a  ''boudoir!*'  Was  the 
wonder  conceivable? 

On  the  glass  plate  lay  all  sorts  of  things  which  you 
couldn't  take  in  at  first  glance,  yet  expanded  your  eyes 
and  your  soul  like  a  divine  revelation.  There  were  ivory- 
backed  brushes—three — four — of  varying  degrees  of  hard- 
ness or  softness;  an  ivory-backed  hand-mirror  with  a 
charmingly  carved  handle,  a  powder  puff  in  an  ivory  box, 
a  glove  buttoner,  a  shoe  horn,  everything  of  silver  and 
ivory.  And  many  more  things,  mysterious  in  their  func- 
tions, the  significance  of  which  would  have  to  be  learned 
gradually.  On  each  shone  resplendent  the  gold  mono- 
gram L.  M.  with  a  seven-pointed  coronet  above. 

It  was  enough  to  set  one  wild. 

After  having  inspected  her  treasures  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent, Lilly  prepared  to  extend  her  expedition  of  conquest 
to  outlying  districts. 

The  room  in  which  she  was  had  only  one  window,  or, 
rather,  a  glass  door,  leading  to  a  balcony,  on  which  there 
was  a  rocking  chair,  and  the  high  railing  of  which  was 
partly  overgrown  with  young  creepers.  Later  in  the  sea- 
son, when  the  leaves  had  unfolded  all  the  way,  a  person 
standing  on  the  balcony  would  be  completely  screened  by 
walls  of  green;  but  now,  in  early  spring,  there  was  still 
so  much  space  between  the  shoots  that  he  might  easily  be 
seen  from  below. 


178  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  softly  opened  the  casement  door  and  slipped  out 
into  the  open  air. 

To  the  left,  rising  above  a  wall,  were  the  barns  and 
stables,  which  formed  a  large  quadrangle  about  the  yard. 
To  the  right,  giant  trees,  a  chaos  of  mazy,  moss-green 
branches  set  with  the  golden-green  buttons  of  the  leaf  buds. 
Inside  the  labyrinth  the  birds  kept  up  a  scandalous  riot, 
which  deafened  one's  ears  as  with  a  hail-storm  of  sounds. 
Straight  ahead,  about  thirty  paces  away,  rose  the  gable 
roof  of  an  ancient  one-story  structure,  which  also  bordered 
on  the  park  wall  and  seemed  to  open  in  front  on  the 
yard. 

There  at  last  a  few  mortals  were  to  be  seen.  Two  gen- 
tlemen, one  with  a  round  grey  beard,  the  other  stout,  mid- 
dle-aged and  copper-coloured,  were  walking  up  and  down 
the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the  house  smoking  and  conversing, 
while  a  third — 

Who  was  that? 

The  slim,  sinewy  young  man  with  the  high  collar  and 
light  yellow  gaiters,  sitting  at  a  window,  pulling  a  red  dog 
to  his  lap  by  a  thin  chain,  that  was — no,  impossible ! — ^yes, 
it  was — it  actually  was — ^Walter  von  Prell ! 

It  was  her  merry  friend,  who  had,  so  to  speak,  slunk 
off  around  the  corner,  the  little  lieutenant,  famed  as  one 
utterly  devoid  of  moral  fibre — the  only  man  that  had  ever 
kissed  her  mouth. 

Except  the  colonel,  of  course;  but  the  colonel  didn't 
count. 

There  were  the  silvery  white  lids  and  the  clinking  brace- 
let and  the  mute  laugh,  which  shook  him  like  a  storm  each 
time  the  red  dog  with  the  pointed  ears  fell  from  his  knees. 
The  only  change  in  him  was  that  the  close-cropped,  vel- 
vety head  of  hair  had  been  replaced  by  a  somewhat  un- 
kempt growth  shining  with  pomade. 


The  Song  of  Songs  179 

Lilly  laughed  aloud  and  stretched  her  arms  to  him. 

**Mr.  von  Prell!  Mr.  von  Prell!'*  she  was  about  to  call 
out,  but  checked  herself  in  time. 

No  matter — now,  she  knew,  she  was  no  longer  solitary 
in  that  strange  world.  Her  merry  friend  was  here,  her 
comrade,  her  playmate,  the  man  to  whom  she  owed  her 
good  fortune. 

She  remembered  his  having  said,  "The  old  man  haL 
taken  a  tremendous  liking  to  me  and  wants  me  to  run 
about  his  estate  as  Fritz  Triddelfitz" — Lilly  knew  her 
Fritz  Keuter  well. 

Strange  that  in  all  these  months  it  should  not  have  oc- 
curred to  the  colonel  to  mention  a  word  about  Von  Prell 's 
being  at  Lischnitz.  To  be  sure,  he  had  seldom  spoken  of 
his  estate.  Even  Miss  von  Schwertf eger  cropped  up  in  his 
mind  only  when  he  wished  to  reprimand  his  young  wife. 

Perhaps  he  suspected  it  was  Von  Prell  and  no  other  who 
had  discovered  Lilly  and  brought  her  forth  from  conceal- 
ment. However,  she  would  tell  the  colonel  and  Miss  von 
Schwertf  eger  without  an  hour's  delay  that  she  had  met 
an  old  acquaintance.  They  need  not  be  informed  of  the 
kiss.  To  what  end?  It  had  no  more  significance  than  a 
kiss  in  a  game  of  forfeits. 

She  slipped  back  into  the  bedroom,  and  a  moment  later, 
while  she  was  drawing  aside  the  window  curtains,  someone 
knocked  at  the  door — ^three  short,  sharp,  rapid  taps,  which 
J  seemed  to  probe  to  the  marrow  of  her  bones. 

It  was  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  of  course.  Who  else 
would  have  frightened  Lilly  so? 

Lilly  received  a  kiss  on  her  forehead;  and  her  cheeks 
were  patted  with  every  appearance  of  consideration  and 
fondness.  But  the  great  colourless  eyes  travelled  silently 
up  and  down  her  body,  and  a  wry,  bitter  smile  hovered 
about   Miss   von   Schwertfeger 's   fleshy   yet   severely   cut 


180  Tlie  Song  of  Songs 

mouth,  the  skin  about '  which  was  reddened,  as  often 
happens  when  women  with  a  fine  skin  age  before  their 
time. 

She  carried  clothes  thrown  over  her  arm,  which  Lilly 
recognised  as  her  own. 

**I  brought  you  these  necessaries,  my  dear,'^  she  said, 
**so  that  you  can  dress  this  morning.  Here  in  the  coun- 
try we  don 't  go  about  in  matinees.  Besides,  directly  after 
you  have  breakfasted,  we  will  make  a  little  tour  of  the 
grounds  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  getting  acquainted 
with  the  household  and  the  people." 

**May  I  keep  house  myself?"  asked  Lilly,  hesitatingly. 

**If  you  know  how,"  said  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  and 
gnawed  her  lips  and  squinted. 

Lilly  vaguely  felt  that  her  harmless  query  suggested  the 
infraction  of  the  housekeeper's  rights,  and,  trying  imme- 
diately to  atone  for  her  thoughtlessness,  she  added,  stam- 
mering : 

**That  is — I  am  only  asking  for  what  I  will  be — " 

She  was  going  to  say  ** permitted,"  but  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  interrupted  her  and  said,  drawing  herself 
up: 

**My  dear  child,  you  are  the  mistress  here;  nobody  is 
better  aware  of  that  than  I.  But  I  mean  well  by  you 
when  I  advise  you  to  ask  for  nothing  at  present.  Pay  at- 
tention to  nothing  but  your  deportment.  Upon  that  de- 
pends how  soon  you  will  really  be  that  which,  unfortu- 
nately, you  are  now  merely  in  name." 

Lilly,  depressed  and  humiliated,  maintained  silence. 

The  disciplinarian  was  already  showing  her  fangs. 

**And  I  advise  you,"  she  continued,  **to  bear  in  mind 
that  you  must  first  study  the  ground  you  will  have  to 
tread  in  the  future.  For  this  you  need  a  guide,  who  knows 
a  thing  or  two  of  which  you  are  ignorant.     Otherwise  you 


The  Song  of  Songs  181 

will  find  yourself  in  difficult  situations,  from  which  it  will 
be  impossible  to  extract  you.  And  that  in  view  of  your 
relations  with  the  colonel,  would  be  greatly  to  be  de- 
plored.'* 

Lilly  felt  the  tears  rising.  The  old  inability  to  defend 
ierself,  which  was  her  gravest  weakness,  took  hold  of  her 
again. 

**0h,  please, *'  she  begged,  folding  her  hands,  ** don't  you 
feel  hostile  to  me.'' 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger's  extinct  eyes,  which  lay  half 
buried  under  heavy  lids,  lighted  up — ^was  it  with  a  ques- 
tion, or  with  amazement,  or  pity  ? 

For  a  moment  she  stared  into  space,  turning  her  head 
aside,  and  Lilly  saw  a  noble,  bold  profile  of  cameo  cut, 
which  appeared  to  belong  to  a  different  person. 

Then  Lilly  felt  long  arms  about  her  neck.  The  embrace 
in  which  she  was  held  seemed  warmer,  more  genuine  than 
any  of  the  caresses  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  had  yet  be- 
stowed upon  her. 

**You're  a  dear  child,  you  are  a  dear  child,"  said  she, 
and  with  that  left  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  later  Lilly,  dressed  in  the  garments  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger  had  brought,  entered  the  dining  room, 
where  breakfast  was  being  served  by  old  Ferdinand,  a 
dried-up,  spindle-legged  heirloom  of  a  servant.  That 
smooth,  round-faced  fellow  with  the  mischievous  smile,  had 
been  dismissed,  thank  goodness! 

The  colonel  came  in  from  his  early  ride,  his  eyes  spark- 
ling with  the  pride  of  proprietorship.  The  little  crisscross 
veins  of  his  gaunt  cheeks  were  filled  with  blood,  and  the 
grey  brushes  over  his  ears  glistened  with  dew  drops.  The 
heavy  jacket  he  wore  was  becoming  to  him,  and  the  O- 
shaped  legs  were  hidden  under  the  table.  He  looked  like 
^  kingly  ol(J  warrior,  both  evil  and  kind-hearted. 


182  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  flew  into  his  arms,  and  lie  said  with  a  sweep  of  his 
hand  about  the  place : 

*  *  Well,  do  you  like — ^y our  home  ? ' ' 

She  kissed  his  hand  for  the  ''your  home/' 

The  dining  room  was  a  long  chamber,  arched  at  each 
end  and  filled  with  carved  pieces  of  furniture  darkened 
by  age.  It  was  only  moderately  lighted  by  three  large 
bow-windows  giving  upon  the  terrace,  from  which  a  flight 
of  railed  stone  steps  led  down  to  the  park. 

At  breakfast  they  discussed  the  walk  they  had  planned 
for  showing  the  young  mistress  her  new  realm.  The  colo- 
nel would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing  as  having  the  people 
come  to  the  castle  and  wait  upon  Lilly  ceremoniously. 
They  were  wearing  their  Sunday-best  that  day  at  any  rate 
and  with  no  derogation  to  themselves  could  receive  her  in 
the  spots  where  they  lived  and  toiled. 

The  upper  employes,  the  inspectors  and  bookkeepers, 
would  come  to  dinner  Sundays,  as  had  been  the  imme- 
morial custom,  and  take  that  as  the  occasion  for  paying 
their  respects. 

*'The  youngest  of  them  used  to  be  one  of  my  men,'*  re- 
marked the  colonel,  ''a  Mr.  von  Prell — '*  He  stopped 
short,  looked  Lilly  over  thoughtfully,  then,  as  if  reassured, 
continued:  **But  he  left  service  some  time  before  I  did, 
and  he's  to  learn  farming  on  my  estate." 

This  was  the  very  moment  for  Lilly's  happy  avowal. 
But  the  words  died  on  her  lips.  She  could  not — for  all 
her  good  intentions,  she  could  not.  As  it  was,  those  great 
colourless  eyes,  resting  on  her  face,  were  putting  her  to  the 
proof. 

However,  one  thing  was  certain — ^the  colonel  knew  noth- 
ing. His  silence  had  been  due  simply  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  not  deemed  the  gay  dog  worthy  of  mentioE, 


.The  Song  of  Songs  183 

** How's  he  behaving?''  asked  the  colonel,  turning  to 
Miss  von  Sehwertfeger. 

**0h,  Colonel,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  regarding  her 
long,  bony  fingers,  on  which  her  crescent-shaped  nails  shone 
like  mother-of-pearl,  **you  know  I  never  denounce  unless 
I  have  to." 

*'Such  a  good-for-nothing  rascal,"  laughed  the  colonel. 

Lilly,  instinctively  taking  her  friend's  part,  thought  the 
lady's  words  were  in  themselves  sufficient  denunciation. 

After  breakfast  they  started  out  on  their  little  expedi- 
Hon. 

Lilly  was  placed  between  the  colonel  and  Miss  von 
Sehwertfeger,  and  a  pack  of  dogs  all  of  a  sudden  appeared 
to  keep  them  company.  Lilly  thought  them  more  likable 
than  anything  else  about  her. 

The  kitchen  was  visited  first.  A  perfect  marvel  of  a 
kitchen,  with  tiled  walls,  porcelain  sinks,  and  all  sorts  of 
up-to-dat^  arrangements.  Lilly  did  not  know  at  what  to 
look  first. 

A  face  was  there,  an  old,  brown,  furrowed,  thick-lipped 
face,  with  a  pair  of  moist  eyes  turned  upon  Lilly  in  mute 
questioning : 

** Don't  you  recognise  me?" 

Lilly's  eyes  answered: 

**Yes,  I  do." 

But  she  did  not  dare  to  speak  with  her  lips  as  well  as 
with  her  eyes,  for  fear  Miss  von  Sehwertfeger  would  in- 
quire concerning  the  decisive  moment  of  her  life  and  come 
to  despise  her  still  more. 

She  gave  the  old  woman  her  hand,  and  the  bond  of 
friendship  was  renewed. 

Next  they  went  to  the  servants'  kitchen,  where  the  Sun- 
day soup  was  bubbling  like  a  seething  sea  in  a  huge  copper 


1 


184  The  Song  of  Songs 

vessel.  After  this  came  the  laundry  with  its  wringers  and 
mangles  resembling  brightly  armoured  monsters.  It  was 
good  to  smell  the  ancient  odour  of  soap  which  had  nestled 
permanently  in  every  nook  and  cranny. 

In  the  pantries  and  store-rooms,  rows  of  hams  wrapped 
in  grey  gauze  depended  from  the  rafters  like  gigantic  bats. 
Sausages  hung  there,  too,  and  last  winter's  golden  pip- 
pins and  other  fine  apples  were  still  lying  on  straw  beds. 
Long  lines  of  wide-mouthed  jars  were  ranged  on  the  closet 
shelves — ^you  could  pilfer  sweets  to  your  heart's  content. 

The  party  now  cut  diagonally  across  the  paved  yard, 
where  the  waggons  and  harvesters  stood  like  soldiers  on 
parade,  to  the  bams  and  stables. 

The  stable  of  the  pleasure  horses!  Heavens!  It  was 
like  a  drawing-room.  Upholstered  wicker  chairs  with  foot- 
stools in  front  stood  about  invitingly.  A  matting  strip 
ran  along  the  stalls,  over  each  of  which  a  porcelain  plate 
proclaimed  the  name  of  the  noble  animal  within.  The 
horses  moved  supple,  slender,  lustrous  necks  and  turned 
knowing  human  eyes  to  greet  their  beautiful  mistress. 

**You  will  choose  one  of  these  for  yourself,"  said  the 
colonel. 

**I  don't  know  how  to  ride,'*  replied  lally,  embarrassed. 

The  grooms  standing  about,  cap  in  hand,  grinned  at  her 
uncomprehendingly.  A  lady  who  could  not  ride  had  never 
before  stepped  into  their  world. 

The  home  of  the  draught  horses  was  not  nearly  so  inter- 
esting; it  was  dirty  and  malodorous,  and  the  cow  stalls 
nauseated  Lilly. 

But  she  took  good  care  not  to  betray  her  sensations. 
Beady  to  learn,  she  patiently  listened  to  the  explanations 
the  colonel  and  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  gave  in  turn. 

A  difficult  piece  of  work  was  still  ahead  of  them,  the 
yisit  to  the  cottagers,  who  had  just  returned  from  church 


tTlie  Song  of  Songs  185 

and  were  standing  before  their  doors  in  expectant  groups. 

The  oldest  and  most  trustworthy  came  first.  There  were 
many  new  names  to  learn,  many  dirty  hands  to  shake  and 
many  eyes  to  look  into  which  stared  at  her  in  respectful 
suspicion. 

Lilly  felt  she  was  fairly  well  able  to  cope  with  the  situa- 
tion. She  found  a  few  friendly  words  to  reach  the  hearts 
of  the  old  and  the  sick;  and  when  she  stooped  and  drew 
on  her  lap  a  blubbering  little  urchin  a  pleased  whisper 
ran  before  her  to  smooth  her  path. 

At  the  end  of  the  settlement  were  two  structures  origi- 
nally erected  for  barns,  but  later  converted  into  dwellings. 
Small  windows  in  red  and  blue  frames  were  set  in  the 
walls  at  irregular  intervals,  and  what  had  once  been  the 
broad  entrance  had  been  built  up  with  yellow  bricks. 

Here  lived  the  Polish  immigrants,  who  had  come  as  con- 
tract labourers  from  distant  regions.  The  district  in  which 
Lischnitz  lay  had  been  German  from  times  of  old  and  had 
remained  a  German  island  amid  the  invading  flood  of 
Slavs. 

For  this  reason  it  was  necessary  to  hold  aloft  the  ban- 
ner of  Germanism,  as  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  admonished 
lovingly.  And  Lilly  felt  mortified,  as  though  she  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  disavowing  it. 

Red  head  cloths  gleamed.  Great,  blue,  intimidated  eyes 
prayed  to  her.  Here  and  there  an  awed  bobbing  to  the 
hem  of  her  skirt,  a  shy  attempt  to  kiss  her  sleeve. 

^^Niech  iedzie  pochwalony  Jezus  Chrystus,''  she  heard 
in  a  whisper  about  her,  and  involuntarily  she  answered: 
**iVa  wielii  wiekow!    Amen!*' 

In  the  course  of  her  Catholic  bringing  up  she  had 
learned  that  this  is  the  answer  to  a  Polish  greeting. 

A  glad  humming  and  buzzing,  a  ripple  of  happiness  ran 
through  the  fearsome  huddling  little  group.    The  lovely 


186  The  Song  of  Songs 

young  pana  had  spoken  their  language,  the  language  of 
their  God. 

**I  had  no  idea  you  could  speak  Polish,"  said  the  colo- 
nel, his  voice  grating  with  blame  of  her. 

Lilly  gave  an  embarrassed  laugh  and  explained. 

They  tarried  a  shorter  time  at  the  next  entrance,  where 
a  group  of  young  fellows  in  heavy  grey  jackets  were  twirl- 
ing their  caps  and  making  awkward  bows.  Lilly  scarcely 
ventured  to  give  them  a  cordial  nod.  Even  that,  she  felt, 
was  forbidden. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  said  not  a  word,  but  with  aqui- 
line nose  in  the  air  held  aloft  the  banner  of  Germanism. 

**Now,  my  dear,''  she  said  when  they  reached  the  castle 
door,  **put  on  your  dark  blue  cloth  dress.  I  have  already 
had  it  taken  from  the  trunk  and  pressed.  You  will  find  it 
in  your  room,  and  a  lace  collar  to  wear  with  it.  That  is 
the  correct  thing  here  for  Sunday  dinner,  which  we  take 
in  the  middle  of  the  day." 

Lilly  obediently  donned  the  blue  gown.  It  enhanced  her 
slim  grace.  Her  heart  beat  for  fear  that  her  merry  friend, 
who  could  not  suspect  she  had  disowned  him,  would  betray 
both  of  them  at  the  first  meeting  by  a  careless  word  of 
recognition. 

The  dinner  bell  rang  and  the  next  instant  came  those 
three  probing  taps  on  the  door. 

Lilly  in  alarm  started  away  from  the  mirror.  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  should  never  discover  she  was  vain.  She 
looked  Lilly  up  and  down  a  while,  then  grasped  both  her 
hands,  and  buried  her  pale  blue  eyes,  which  now  flared  up 
again,  in  the  improbable  eyes. 

**God  grant,"  she  said,  **that  you  don't  cause  too  much 
mischief  in  this  world,  my  child." 

**Why  should  I  cause  mischief?"  Lilly  faltered,  morti- 
fied again.    "I  don't  do  a  bit  of  harm  to  anybody.' 


99 


The  Song  of  Songs  187 

Miss  von  Schwertf  eger  laughed. 

**The  one  good  thing  is,  you  don't  know  who  you  are,'* 
she  said,  and  drew  her  to  the  corridor  and  down  the  old 
stairway,  which  cracked  at  every  step. 

In  the  dining  room  were  four  dark  men's  figures  besides 
the  colonel's.  At  Lilly's  entrance  they  hastily  drew  up 
in  line. 

One  was  the  man  with  the  round  grey  beard — **Mr. 
Leichtweg,  our  chief  inspector,"  said  the  colonel.  The 
next  was  the  stout,  copper-coloured  man — ^**Mr.  Messner, 
our  bookkeeper."  Somebody  else  was  introduced,  and 
then— then — 

** Lieutenant  von  Prell,  who  is  learning  farming  here," 
said  the  colonel. 

Just  a  slight  inclination  of  her  head,  the  same  as  to  the 
others,  no  more. 

But  my  poor,  merry  friend,  how  you  look! 

A  long  frock-coat  fell  below  his  knees,  his  narrow- 
pointed  head  was  lost  in  his  high  collar,  his  clothes  hung 
in  loose,  limp  folds.  Every  feature  of  his,  every  mario- 
nette movement  bespoke  rigid  formality  and  obsequious- 
ness. 

Lilly  stood  there  lost  in  pity  and  astonishment.  If  she 
had  not  seen  him  that  very  morning  while  he  was — 

** Shake  hands  with  the  gentlemen,"  she  heard  whispered 
behind  her. 

She  started  and  pressed  the  honest  country  fists  more 
firmly  than  beseems  a  chatelaine.  But  she  quickly  let  go 
Von  Prell 's  freckled  hand,  which  was  still  well  kept. 

''Thank  the  Lord,  he  won't  betray  us,"  she  thought. 

Then  came  grace. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  finches  were  the  maddest  of  all.  The  titmice,  too, 
made  a  racket,  and  so  did  the  nuthatches,  and  the  black- 
birds behaved  as  if  they  were  lords  of  the  place,  while  the 
stay-at-home  starlings  formed  in  groups  among  themselves 
and  paid  no  attention  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  Beside, 
there  were  the  hedge-sparrows  and  wrens,  who  added  a 
fair  share  to  the  chorus.  But  the  fanfare  of  the  finches 
was  too  much  for  ears  accustomed  to  the  tiny  twittering 
of  a  caged  canary. 

Old  Haberland  knew  them  all.  Old  Haberland  was  the 
gardener,  who  pottered  about  in  felt  shoes  and  lived,  in  a 
measure,  from  the  coloneFs  bounty,  since  he  held  sway 
now  over  nothing  but  the  lawn  sprinkler.  He  knew  which 
birds  nested  on  the  ground  and  which  in  the  branches.  He 
knew  the  time  each  began  to  sing  and  the  best  place  to 
stand  if  you  wanted  to  study  their  plumage  and  habits. 

It  was  terrible  to  think  that  the  squirrels  had  to  be  shot. 
Lilly  almost  hated  the  old  man  when  he  sallied  forth,  his 
pea-rifle  under  his  jacket,  with  evil  intent  against  the 
jolly  little  marauders — Haberland  maintained  the  vermin 
recognised  his  gun  and  scurried  off  when  they  saw  it.  The 
magpies  and  jays  were  no  friends  of  his,  either.  His  love 
was.  the  shy,  green  woodpecker,  whom  he  had  actually 
coaxed  into  nesting  in  the  park.  And  that  gay  marvel  of 
a  bird,  the  hoopoe,  came  without  fear  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  to  the  back  of  the  castle,  where  it  sang  its  hututu  and 
transfixed  the  insects  in  the  grass  with  its  curved  sabre  of 
a  bill. 

188 


The  Song  of  Songs  189 

Those  were  mornings  full  of  glow  and  brilliance,  such  as 
could  not  have  been  since  the  creation  of  the  world. 

When  you  opened  the  door  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing the  cool  purple  mist  crept  in  and  folded  itself  about 
your  body  like  a  royal  mantle.  On  the  pond,  where  the 
reeds  rose  up  over  night,  pushed  by  underground  powers, 
lay  sunlit  vapours,  which  gradually  lifted  and  ascended 
heavenward.  Everything  steamed.  Sometimes  white 
iights  seemed  to  have  been  kindled  on  the  lawn,  and  the 
little  clouds  in  evaporating  rolled  heavily  from  the  glisten- 
ing campions,  as  though  surfeited  with  the  dew  they  had 
drunk. 

Such  mornings! 

Who  can  describe  the  mad  delight  of  the  dogs  when 
their  beautiful  young  mistress  appeared  on  the  steps  smil- 
ing, clad  in  a  white  blouse  and  short  skirt  and  armed  with 
garden  shears?  They  had  been  awaiting  her  there  a  long 
time,  every  now  and  then  emitting  short,  impatient  sounds, 
half  whine,  half  yelp.  For  they  had  not  hesitated  an  in- 
stant to  recognise  her  absolute  rule,  in  utter  disregard  of 
the  pitying  benevolence  with  which  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
— whom  they  detested — stood  by  and  smiled. 

Bebel,  the  terrier,  the  cleverest  of  all,  did  not  count,  be- 
cause he  sped  after  the  colonel  on  his  early  cross-country 
gallop.  But  there  was  Pluto,  the  long-eared  setter,  who, 
out  of  employment  at  this  season,  gave  chase  to  the  rab- 
bits on  his  own  account.  There  were  Schnauzl,  the  poodle, 
and  Bobbie,  the  dachs,  living  in  constant  feud  with  each 
other  for  the  first  place  in  Lilly's  favour.  Dearest  of  all 
was  Regina,  the  panther-like  Great  Dane,  one  of  whose 
forelegs  had  been  broken.  As  if  to  apologize  for  her  dis- 
graced existence,  she  always  crept  back  of  anyone  she  met; 
but  at  night,  to  compensate,  she  was  untiring  in  her  watch- 
fulness, and  maintained  a  steady  reign  of  terror. 


190  The  Song  of  Songs 

Who  can  describe  the  joyous  caracoling  of  the  colts  in 
the  pasture,  the  craving  for  love  the  yearling  manifested 
when  the  mistress,  who  always  carried  sugar  with  her, 
pushed  back  the  bars,  and  stretched  her  arms  to  caress  the 
slender  heads  of  her  favourites? 

Who  can  describe  the  chagrin  of  the  turkey  cock,  great 
enough  when  the  pheasants  got  first  peck  at  the  bread 
crumbs,  but  knowing  no  bounds  when  those  stupid  ducks 
squatted  right  on  Lilly 's  feet,  as  though  that  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world?  At  times  his  jealousy  so 
swelled  him  with  rage  that  he  even  dared  to  nab  one  of 
Pluto's  ears.  But  Pluto  disdained  to  do  more  than  shake 
him  off  in  scorn. 

Yes,  those  were  wonderful  mornings! 

And  when  the  height  of  the  flowering  season  came,  she 
never  wearied  of  wandering  about  and  filling  baskets  with 
blue,  golden  and  snowy  blossoms  until  she  was  fairly 
drowned  in  a  floral  sea. 

After  the  morning  stroll  came  breakfast,  when  from 
sheer  joy  and  tenderness  Lilly  hesitated  about  whose  neck 
first  to  throw  her  arms,  the  colonel's  or  Anna's — on  certain 
confidential  occasions  she  was  called  Anna.  Lilly,  in  gen- 
eral, was  very  affectionate  with  Miss  von  Schwertfeger, 
despite  her  fear  of  that  lady's  censoriousness  and  despite 
other  fears  of  which  she  could  not  rid  herself. 

Yes,  she  thought,  it  was  a  strict  school,  indeed,  which  she 
tad  entered. 

Not  a  word,  not  a  step,  not  a  movement  remained  un- 
observed, or,  if  necessary,  unreproved.  She  learned  to  sit 
at  table  and  in  an  armchair,  how  to  prepare  and  serve  tea, 
how  to  invite  a  person  to  be  seated,  how  to  begin  a  con- 
versation, how  to  introduce  strangers  to  each  other  without 
getting  into  a  muddle,  how  to  pass  over  forgotten  names, 


The  Song  of  Songs  191 

and  offer  everybody  at  table  a  fair  portion  of  cordiality 
All  these  things  Lilly  learned,  and,  oh,  much  more. 

But  they  were  only  the  rudiments  to  be  practised  in  the 
small  world  of  the  castle  or  when  occasional  visitors 
dropped  in.  Real  instruction  was  to  begin  in  the  fall ;  for 
then  expeditions  to  neighboring  estates  would  be  under- 
taken. In  the  meai^time  the  colonel  wished  to  avoid  all 
contact  with  the  families  round  about.  He  could  do  this 
without  provoking  comment,  his  long  bachelorhood  serving 
as  a  plausible  pretext  for  wishing  to  prolong  his  honey- 
moon to  the  utmost. 

By  autumn  Lilly  was  to  have  been  converted  into  a 
veritable  grand  damey  who  would  do  honour  to  her  hus- 
band's name  and  rank,  and  whose  tact  and  ease  would 
conquer  all  mistrust  whether  at  the  festivities  in  the  homes 
of  the  gentry  or  in  the  club  house. 

This,  the  highest  ideal  on  earth,  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
kept  before  Lilly's  eyes  every  minute  of  the  day,  and  Lilly 
dreamed  of  it  as  she  had  dreamed  of  approaching  exam- 
inations when  in  the  Selecta.  Full  of  fears  and  doubts 
she  worked  over  herself  night  and  day. 

Her  soul  found  calm  only  when  she  went  on  one  of 
her  rambles,  or,  better  still,  when  she  sat  behind  locked 
doors  in  her  boudoir. 

No,  no.  Heaven  preserve  her!  Not  her  boudoir!  That 
wasn't  its  name. 

The  first  time  she  had  said  ** boudoir,**  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  turned  very  condescending.  It  was  a  sit- 
ting-room. Only  butchers'  and  bankers'  wives — in  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger 's  eyes  one  and  the  same — would  disfig- 
ure it  with  the  other  name. 

Thus  Lilly  stumbled  at  every  step. 

Occasionally,  when  he  quartered  officers  on  their  way 


192  The  Song  of  Songs 

through  the  country,  the  colonel,  as  if  to  test  Lilly's  social 
ability,  would  have  her  preside  at  table  with  Miss  von 
Schwertf eger  's  assistance. 

Each  time  the  same  scene  was  enacted.  At  first  Lilly 
would  be  stiff  as  a  mechanical  doll,  incapable  of  addressing 
a  word  she  had  not  learned  by  rote  to  these  guests  gleam- 
ing in  military  resplendence.  A  glass  or  two  of  wine 
would  give  her  courage.  Gradually  she  would  liven  up, 
and  even  grow  merry,  and  finally  bubble  over  with  harm- 
less pleasantries — from  where  they  came  flying  into  her 
head  she  did  not  know — which  would  so  enrapture  the 
gentlemen,  most  of  whom  were  well  past  their  prime,  that 
they  directed  all  their  remarks  to  her,  as  if  to  pay  her 
court,  while  their  eyes  hung  on  her  face  in  enjoyment  and 
desire. 

Now  the  colonel  would  grow  uneasy.  He  would  cast 
furtive  glances  at  Mi«s  von  Schwertfeger,  who  usually  sat 
with  her  eyes  on  her  plate  and  a  wry  smile  on  her  lips; 
and  then  despite  the  gentlemen's  protestations  of  regret, 
the  ladies  would  leave  the  table. 

Lilly  grew  hot  with  the  fire  she  herself  had  kindled 
in  the  heads  of  her  guests.  It  caused  her  pleasure  and 
distress,  and  forced  her  to  sit  at  her  window  until  mid- 
night, staring  into  the  blue  twilight  of  the  park  with  beat- 
ing heart  and  quivering  nerves  and  flushed  cheeks  stream- 
ing with  tears. 

Forebodings  of  mad  acts  and  riotous  self-abandon  flashed 
up  in  her  brain.  A  parching  fever  enervated  her  body. 
Her  clothes,  her  room,  the  park,  the  world  became  too 
contracted.  A  wild  dance  of  looks  and  flames,  a  whirl  of 
fiery  red,  inured,  desirous  masculinity  chased  through  her 
head. 

On  such  nights,  when  the  guests  had  at  last  retired,  the 
colonel,  more  or  less  intoxicated,  would  force  himself  into 


The  Song  of  Songs  193 

her  bedroom,  and  begin  by  reproaching  her  for  not  having 
been  ladylike  enough.  Lilly  would  cry  and  try  to  excuse 
herself.  Then  he  would  kiss  the  tears  from  her  lashes, 
snatch  her  clothes  from  her  body,  and  throw  himself  next 
to  her  in  bed. 

Shuddering  with  foolish  pangs  of  conscience,  quivering 
in  disgust  of  his  drunkenness,  happy,  nevertheless,  to  feel 
that  tormenting  tenseness  relax,  she  gave  her  body  up  to 
him. 

On  other  nights  when  she  felt  uneasy  and  alone  and  de- 
sired his  presence,  when  her  body  as  well  as  her  soul 
longed  to  cling  to  him  in  the  humble  sense  of  belonging 
to  him  entirely,  then  he  was  not  to  be  had.  He  kept  his 
door  locked. 

On  the  whole  he  was  loving  and  gracious  to  her.  He 
handled  her  as  if  she  were  a  gay,  fragile  toy,  to  be  wound 
up  not  too  often,  and  each  time  it  has  been  played  with 
enough,  to  be  laid  aside  carefully  for  use  on  the  next 
occasion.  This  treatment  suited  her.  At  least  she  was 
spared  dread  of  those  outbursts  of  wrath  which  set  the 
walls  a-tremble  two  or  three  times  a  day,  and  frightened 
every  living  thing  in  the  vicinity.  Even  Miss  von  Schwert- 
feger  was  not  sure  how  to  take  them.  She  silently  set 
her  teeth,  and  bowed  her  head  as  before  the  inevitable. 

Lilly  could  never  fathom  the  relation  existing  between 
the  colonel  and  his  housekeeper.  Usually  it  seemed  to  her 
the  many  years  of  mutual  confidence  had  welded  them 
together  inseparably.  Then  came  times  when  they  stu- 
diously avoided  each  other,  the  colonel  in  haughty  preoc- 
cupation with  his  own  affairs.  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
squinting  sarcastically  and  suggesting  by  her  manner  a 
feeling  of  rancor,  a  menace. 

Now  and  then  it  even  occurred  to  Lilly  that  when  the 
lady  had  been  y<^ung  and  fair,  she  had  been  the  coloners 


194  The  Song  of  Songs 

love.  But  Lilly  dismissed  this  idea.  Miss  von  Schwert- 
feger  was  far  too  proud  to  endure  the  bitterness  of  such 
companionship,  and  he  was  too  dominating  to  tolerate  the 
presence  of  such  a  creditor. 

All  that  Lilly  learned  of  her  past  was  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  yet  aristocratic  army  oflficer,  and  had 
been  left  an  orphan  with  her  own  living  to  earn  after  her 
confirmation.  She  had  now  been  managing  the  colonel's 
household  for  nearly  twenty  years.  The  fact  that  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger,  homeless  and  without  resources,  like 
herself,  had  also  been  thrown  upon  the  colonel's  tender 
mercies  gradually  aroused  in  Lilly  a  sense  of  sympathy 
and  kinship,  although  she  could  never  cast  off  a  slight 
feeling  that  she  must  be  on  her  guard  against  this  woman. 

She  really  owed  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude. Without  her  ready  advice,  Lilly  would  have  fallen 
innumerable  times  from  the  road  leading  to  the  lofty 
heights  where  she  would  sit  enthroned  as  aristocrat  and 
lady  of  a  manor.  Ridiculers  would  have  taken  base  ad- 
vantage of  her  modesty;  her  sportive  manner  of  equality 
would  have  invited  impertinence;  she  would  have  ended 
in  losing  every  vestige  of  power.  Perhaps  people  would 
even  have  come  to  despise  her. 

As  it  was,  everybody  loved  her.  She  found  shining 
glances  to  greet  her  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  stables,  among 
the  villagers,  and  at  the  lodge ;  while  in  the  barn,  where  the 
Polish  women  dwelt  behind  smouldering  brushwood  and 
drying  wash,  she  was  a  veritable  idol. 

Whether  a  rumor  had  gotten  about  of  her  Slavic  name, 
or  h^T  Catholicism,  could  not  be  determined.  However 
that  might  be,  the  fact  remained  that  these  strange,  de- 
spised people,  who  glided  among  the  stiff  and  haughty  Ger- 
mans with  the  humble  look  of  a  child  in  their  eyes  and  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  195 

plaintive  melodies  of  their  country  on  their  lips,  revered 
Lilly  as  their  redeemer  and  patron  saint. 

She  liked  to  busy  herself  with  the  gentle,  good-natured 
folk.  She  visited  the  sick,  and  cared  for  the  destitute. 
The  girls  seemed  to  her  like  poor  sisters,  who  needed  watch- 
ing over;  and  as  for  the  boys,  why,  they  were  a  charge 
that  God  Himself  had  put  into  her  keeping. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  looked  askance  at  these  kindly 
attentions.  *  *  The  people  belonging  to  the  place, ' '  she  said, 
**are  beginning  to  complain  that  you  prefer  the  immi- 
grants to  them.  You  would  do  well  to  take  your  walks 
in  another  direction." 

Lilly  remonstrated.  Henceforth  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
kept  close  watch,  and  did  not  leave  her  side  when  the 
barn  dwellings  happened  to  be  in  seductive  proximity. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  even  converted  Lilly  to  Protest- 
antism. 

Not  in  her  soul.     Heaven  f oref end ! 

**Love  your  Holy  Virgin  and  your  St.  Joseph  as  much 
as  you  want  to,'*  she  said,  **but  just  remove  that  font  and 
those  little  images  from  your  bedside.  As  for  going  to 
church,  you  may  drive  to  Krammen  to  attend  mass  on 
Sunday;  of  course  you  may;  the  colonel  would  not  think 
of  forbidding  you  to.  But  take  my  advice,  dearest,  and 
sit  next  to  us  in  our  pew.  Do  it  for  my  sake,  you  won't 
regret  it.'* 

Lilly  did  not  offer  much  resistance,  and  by  way  of 
reward  received  a  small  altar  to  keep  in  her  room.  When 
locked,  it  looked  like  a  dainty  jewel  casket,  but  inside  was 
the  infant  Jesus  in  the  arms  of  the  Madonna  and — oh  joy  I 
— there  was  St.  Joseph  on  the  left  leaf  of  the  folding  door, 
and  St.  Anne  on  the  right  leaf. 

Lilly  wept  with  delight. 


196  The  Song  of  Songs 

Nevertheless  she  could  not  love  the  donor  with  all  her 
heart  and  all  her  soul.  No  matter  how  often  they  sat  to- 
gether chatting  confidentially,  Lilly  remained  in  solitude. 

And  in  fear. 

She  did  not  dare  even  to  eat  her  fill.  As  if  to  make 
up  for  Mrs.  Asmussen's  long-forgotten  mush,  Lilly  had 
developed  a  ravenous  appetite;  but  noticing  Miss  von 
Schwertf eger 's  apprehensive  sidelooks  at  her  heaped  plate, 
she  usually  rose  from  table  only  half  satisfied.  To  stay 
herself  until  the  next  meal  she  drew  upon  the  treasures  of 
the  storeroom. 

Old  Maggie  the  cook,  in  whom  she  possessed  a  sworn 
ally,  kept  watch  to  warn  Lilly  of  Miss  von  Schwertf  eger 's 
approach.  Once,  however,  the  omnipotent  housekeeper 
caught  her  there,  and  Lilly  dished  up  the  excuse  that  she 
wanted  to  learn  housekeeping;  which  declaration  was  re- 
ceived with  condescending  merriment. 

Had  it  not  been  for  old  Maggie,  Lilly  would  never  have 
learned  a  single  detail  of  the  management  of  the  large 
household,  Miss  von  Schwertf  eger  studiously  keeping  her 
from  regular  activity  of  any  sort,  whether  out  of  vainglory 
or  consideration  Lilly  could  not  determine. 

If  Lilly  wanted  to  help  with  a  piece  of  work,  it  was 
done  already,  or  she  mustn't  spoil  her  hands,  or  she  might 
injure  herself. 

Her  passionate  desire  to  learn  horseback  riding  was  also 
thwarted  by  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  who  was  always  dis- 
covering signs  of  approaching  motherhood,  though  they 
proved  each  time  to  be  false. 

Even  playing  on  the  piano  was  denied  her.  The  yellow 
old  instrument  of  torture,  the  keys  of  which  resembled  the 
decayed  teeth  of  a  smoker — just  like  the  colonel's — was 
not  to  be  replaced  by  a  new  piano  until  autumn,  when  they 
would  go  to  Danzig  to  select  one. 


The  Song  of  Songs  197 

She  thought  of  the  times  preceding  her  marriage,  hardly 
more  than  half  a  year  ago,  as  belonging  to  her  long-van- 
ished youth.  She  would  have  ridiculed  one  who  had  told 
her,  youth  still  lay  ahead  of  her  nineteen  years. 

It  was  good  that  over  there  in  the  lodge  a  witness  of  her 
sweet,  foolish  past  was  living  along  in  madcap  thought- 
lessness. This  alone  persuaded  her  that  her  maiden  days 
had  not  been  a  mere  dream,  that  she  had  not  been  a 
colonel's  wife  from  the  cradle  upward. 

In  all  this  time  she  had  met  her  merry  friend  only  at 
Sunday  dinners,  when  he  played  a  comic  role  making  his 
jerky  reverences  in  his  long  frock  coat. 

Sometimes  when  standing  on  her  balcony  at  twilight  be- 
hind the  foliage  now  closegrown,  she  saw  him  at  his 
window  in  the  lodge  cutting  capers  with  his  wild  little  red 
fox  of  a  dog.  A  feeling  would  then  come  over  her  that  the 
only  person  who  actually  belonged  to  her  in  this  alien 
world  was  yon  light-haired  good-for-nothing,  who  pursued 
all  the  maids  on  the  demesne.  Old  Maggie  told  tales.  At 
night  he  would  ruin  the  toughest  horses  trying  to  get  back 
from  his  secret  excursions  before  dawn;  and  in  his  den 
behind  closed  shutters — 

At  this  point  Maggie  lost  her  faculty  of  speech.  The 
things  that  took  place  behind  those  closed  shutters  must 
have  been  dreadful. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

One  red  August  morning  Lilly,  sprinkled  with  dew 
from  head  to  foot  and  clasping  a  bunch  of  dewy  roses  in 
both  arms,  entered  the  dining-roomi,  where  Anna  von 
Schwertf eger,  tall  and  thin  in  her  greyish  blue  linen  dress, 
was  standing  at  the  table  smiling  to  herself. 

It  was  not  her  manner,  it  was  not  her  greeting;  both 
were  as  usual.  It  was  an  intangible  something  which  in- 
stantly caused  Lilly  to  realize  that  an  extraordinary  event 
had  occurred. 

Katie,  she  noticed,  who  helped  Ferdinand  with  the  serv-) 
ing,  had  red  eyelids  and  kept  gnawing  her  lips  while  set- 
ting the  table.  Katie  was  of  finer  material  than  the  aver- 
age servant  girl,  her  father  having  been  a  teacher,  and  was 
very  pretty  besides;  owing  to  which  qualities  Miss  von 
Schwertf  eger  had  selected  her  as  Lilly's  special  maid. 

When  Katie  left  the  room,  Lilly  began  to  ask  questions. 

In  reply  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  merely  kissed  her  with 
redoubled  tenderness,  and  observed: 

**Why  should  you  sully  your  pure  young  spirit  with 
such  ugly  things  f  If  certain  people  are  bent  upon  break- 
ing their  necks,  that's  their  business.  We  cannot  help 
them." 

**  Breaking  their  necks — ^that  must  mean  Walter  von 
Prell,'*  thought  Lilly,  and  said  aloud:  ** After  all  this  is 
my  home,  and  nothing  that  happens  here  in  my  future 
province'' — she  modestly  said  ** future" — ^** ought  to  be 
kept  from  me." 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  yielded  to  her  arguments. 

198 


The  Song  of  Songs  199 

**It  will  be  painful  to  you/'  she  said,  "because  I  know 
you  like  him.'* 

**Him — whom?"  queried  Lilly,  conscious  of  blushing. 

"In  fact  all  of  us  like  him,'*  continued  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  by  way  of  mitigation,  "the  colonel  most  of 
all.  So  long  as  he  confined  himself  to  the  rooms  of  the 
labourers*  girls  I  winked  my  eyes,  and  begged  the  kitchen 
help  not  to  annoy  me  with  gossip  about  his  adventures. 
But  if  he  commits  the  outrage  of  breaking  into  the  castle, 
it's  time  the  matter  ended.*' 

"Why,  what  did  he  do?"  asked  Lilly,  in  fright. 

"For  some  weeks  past  I  noticed  certain  things  which 
struck  me  as  rather  curious.  In  spots  the  vine  on  your 
balcony  was  withered — " 

"On — my — "  Seized  with  a  wild  suspicion  Lilly 
stepped  a  pace  nearer  to  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  and 
clutching  her  arm  asked:  "What  has  my  balcony  to  do 
with  Mr.  von  Prell,  Miss  Anna?" 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  avoided  Lilly's  look. 

"Calm  yourself,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "calm  yourself. 
Persons  in  my  position  have  to  keep  their  eyes  wide  open. 
That's  what  they  are  there  for.  I  was  simply  acting  for 
your  protection,  because  anyone  who  does  not  know  you 
as  I  do  might  come  to  the  vile  conclusion  that  if  a  man 
climbs  up  to  your  balcony — " 

Lilly  began  to  cry. 

"It's  so  low,  so  low." 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  drew  her  to  the  sofa  and  stroked 
her  brow. 

"I  have  gone  through  much  worse  things,  dear  child. 
At  any  rate,  I  wanted  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair, 
and  although,  I  need  not  say,  I  hadn't  the  least  suspicion 
of  you" — she  turned  her  eyes  away  agaii> — "nevertheless 
I  spent  a  few  nights  outside  your  door." 


200  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  started.  While  she  had  been  sleeping  in  innocent 
unconsciousness,  someone  had  lurked  in  hiding  close  by — so 
fast  was  she  held  captive! 

"And  about  one  o'clock  this  morning  I  caught  him  in 
the  act.  Fancy!  The  dare-devil  had  the  temerity  to  lean 
one  of  Haberland  's  ladders  against  your  balcony — that  was 
the  cause  of  the  broken,  withered  vines — and  enter  your 
sitting  room  through  the  glass  door — glass  doors,  dearie, 
ought  never  be  left  open.  He  passed  your  bedroom,  and 
went  to  the  corridor  without  seeing  me,  of  course.  Since 
Katie  is  the  only  person  who  sleeps  on  that  side  I  charged 
her  with  it  early  this  morning.  She  made  no  denials.  I 
always  act  in  such  matters  with  the  utmost  mildness  and 
reserve,  and  I  told  her  she  might  give  notice  and  leave  on 
the  first.  But  what  shall  we  do  about  the  young  man?  I 
know  this  is  the  one  place  where  he  can  be  brought  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.  Should  the  colonel  dismiss  him,  all 's  over 
with  him.  And  I  have  no  right  to  conceal  his  conduct 
from  the  colonel.  An  affair  that  so  nearly  compromises 
his  wife's  honour — " 

''What  has  my  honour  to  do  with  Mr.  von  Prell  if  he 
runs  after  servant  girls?"  Lilly  ventured  to  interject,  hop- 
ing to  improve  his  prospects  a  bit  by  playing  the  innocent. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  had  just  time  enough  to  enlighten 
her  innocence  concerning  all  the  evil  results  of  Mr.  von 
Prell 's  mad  conduct,  when  the  table  began  to  quiver  from 
the  colonel 's  tread  as  he  came  tramping  down  the  corridor. 

** Don't  say  anything — not  yet!"  begged  Lilly,  and  with 
that  was  hanging  on  the  colonel's  neck  to  hide  her  con- 
fusion. 

The  colonel  noticed  nothing  amiss. 

His  suspicions,  ever  alert,  had  gone  to  sleep  now  that 
he  knew  his  young  wife  secure  under  the  Argus  eyes  of  his 
old  and  tried  housekeeper. 


The  Song  of  Songs  201 

He  was  no  longer  that  greedy  lover,  simulating  youth- 
fulness,  who  had  spied  upon  her  every  look  and  emo- 
tion, jealous  of  his  mastery.  The  humourous  condescen- 
sion with  which  he  watched  the  doings  of  the  lovely  gentle 
child  gave  him  a  natural  semblance  of  fatherliness,  which 
became  him  well. 

His  visits  to  the  club  house  in  the  garrison  town  nearby, 
at  first  only  occasional,  had  begun  to  grow  more  frequent. 
Sometimes  he  even  departed  from  his  custom  of  leaving 
after  supper,  and  took  the  afternoon  train.  But  whatever 
time  he  left,  he  never  returned  before  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  since  there  was  no  train  to  bring  him  back  earlier. 

During  breakfast  he  good-humouredly  explained  to  the 
ladies  that  he  would  have  to  go  to  town  that  day  to  unload 
the  barley  crop  on  the  Jews. 

An  idea  occurred  to  Lilly  which  filled  her  soul  with 
sacred  joy.  The  colonel's  absence  must  be  employed  for 
rescuing  Yon  Prell.  How,  she  did  not  yet  know,  but  save 
him  she  must.  She  was  the  only  one  to  do  it.  If  she  did 
not  concern  herself  in  his  behalf,  who  else  was  there  in  the 
wide  world  to  tow  his  drifting  vessel  to  security? 

After  the  colonel  had  left  the  room,  she  plucked  up  the 
courage  to  put  in  a  plea  with  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  who, 
however,  refused  to  relent. 

*  *  On  the  next  occasion  he  will  do  even  worse  things, ' '  she 
said.  **Then  the  shame  both  for  him  and  for  us  will  be 
still  greater." 

* '  No,  he  won 't  do  anything  worse, ' '  Lilly  averred.  *  *  He 
will  get  better.    You  need  only  take  him  to  task." 

**I'm  old  enough  to,"  replied  Miss  von  Schwertfeger, 
with  a  bitter-sweet  smile,  **and  I  possess  the  authority. 
But,  to  be  quite  frank,  the  subject  is  rather  a  delicate 
one,  and  I  should  like  nevermore  to  have  a  tJiing  to  do 
with  such  sordid  affairs." 


202  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  extinct  eyes,  over  which  the  lids  lay  like  heavy 
blankets,  fell  into  a  fixed  stare,  which  Lilly  had  fre- 
quently noticed.  It  seemed  to  bring  to  the  top  an  old, 
dark,  bitter  hatred  which  had  long  lain  buried.  Then 
Miss  von  Schwertfeger  herself  returned  to  the  subject. 

**A11  I  can  agree  to,*'  she  said,  **is,  that  if  he  comes 
to  me  of  his  own  will  and  begs  my  pardon,  maybe  I  will 
yield.  That's  all  I  can  do  without  incurring  the  blame 
of  being  underhanded." 

**Why,  he  doesn't  even  suspect  he's  been  discovered." 

**I  should  like  to  wager,"  rejoined  Miss  von  Schwert- 
feger, **that  Katie  will  use  her  first  free  moment  to  run 
over  to  him." 

**And  if  she  doesn't?"  cried  Lilly,  scarcely  mastering 
her  anxiety. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  took  her  head  between  her  hands. 

*  *  If  I  did  not  know,  dearie,  what  a  sweet,  harmless  young 
creature  you  are,  I  should  say  your  interest  in  the  little 
rake  is  most  curious.  Now,  you  needn't  blush.  I  know 
there 's  nothing  back  of  it.  At  all  events,  I  will  wait  until 
to-morrow,  because  you  plead  for  him,  my  love." 

Thus  the  conversation  ended.  Nothing  more  was  to  be 
expected  of  Miss  von  Schwertfeger. 

**If  I  don't  save  him,  he  will  be  driven  away,  and  if 
he's  driven  away,  he'll  go  to  rack  and  ruin,  and  if  he 
goes  to  rack  and  ruin,  I  shall  be  to  blame." 

In  this  fashion  Lilly's  thoughts  kept  revolving  dizzily  in 
her  brain. 

The  simplest  thing  would  be  to  come  to  an  understand- 
ing with  Katie,  but  that  was  unbefitting  Lilly's  station. 
Besides,  it  had  not  occurred  to  the  poor  girl,  who  crept 
about  apathetically,  to  run  over  to  see  Von  Prell.  Later 
in  the  day,  in  fact,  she  got  an  attack  of  cramps  and  had 
to  be  put  to  bed. 


The  Song  of  Songs  203 

At  four  o'clock  the  colonel  drove  off  to  the  station.  He 
had  stuck  a  package  of  blue  banknotes  into  his  bill-folder ; 
which  was  an  unfailing  sign  that  he  would  not  return  be- 
fore early  morning. 

Evening  came.  The  lowing  of  the  cattle  and  the  crack- 
ing of  whips  proclaimed  the  end  of  the  day's  work. 

Lilly  crouched  behind  the  vine  on  her  balcony,  and 
listened  to  what  was  going  on  at  the  lodge.  Finally  the 
scapegrace  appeared  at  his  dormer  window  dragging  his 
little  dog  by  a  chain.  He  was  wearing  the  sort  of  greenish 
grey  jacket  with  innumerable  pockets  that  managers  of 
estates  affect;  and  each  pocket  was  stuffed  full,  giving  his 
figure  a  warty  appearance.  Nevertheless  he  was  a  dear, 
bright  little  fellow,  well  worth  the  saving. 

If  she  were  to  signal  to  him  and  throw  down  a  piece  of 
paper,  would  it  be  possible  for  him  to  pick  it  up  later  with- 
out being  seen? 

She  went  into  her  room  and  scrawled  a  few  lines  in 
pencil. 

''Everything  has  been  discovered.  Miss  von  Schwert- 
feger  promises  to  keep  silent  provided  you — " 

She  stopped  short.  Should  the  note  fall  into  strange 
hands  the  stupidest  mortal  would  construe  them  into  a 
confession  of  guilt. 

**I  will  speak  to  him,'*  she  decided. 

The  supper  bell  rang. 

How  strangely  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  regarded  her,  as 
if  she  had  gotten  a  glimpse  into  the  depths  of  Lilly's  soul 
and  discovered  her  bold  design.  But  she  did  not  refer  to 
the  malefactor  again. 

On  rising  from  the  table  she  put  her  arm  through  Lilly 's, 
after  her  wont  when  she  intended  to  bar  the  way  to  Lilly's 
Pplisli  friends. 


204  The  Song  of  Songs 

*'She  won't  let  go  the  whole  evening/'  thought  Lilly, 
raging  inwardly. 

In  a  short  while,  however,  word  was  brought  that  Katie 
had  grown  sicker,  and  it  might  be  necessary  to  send  for 
the  physician. 

*'I11  be  back  directly,"  said  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  as 
she  left  the  room  giving  Lilly  a  look  expressive  of  stubborn 
resistance. 

In  an  instant  Lilly  had  slipped  out  of  the  door  and  was 
running  down  the  terrace  steps  leading  to  the  park. 

Profound  silence  reigned.  The  only  sound  was  of  a 
splashing  which  came  from  behind  a  cypress  tree  where  old 
Haberland,  still  occupied  with  watering  the  roses,  was  fill- 
ing his  cans. 

Lilly  made  straight  for  the  lodge  considering  ways  of 
making  him  look  from  his  window  and  see  her. 

She  was  saved  from  committing  this  indiscretion. 

He  was  lying  at  full  length  on  the  green  bench  outside 
the  house,  smoking  a  cigarette  with  evident  gusto,  the 
dog's  chain  wrapped  about  his  left  wrist,  and  the  dog 
himself  asleep  at  his  feet.  None  of  the  other  men  were 
about. 

Her  heart's  throbbing  almost  deprived  her  of  breath. 

**Mr.  vonPrell!" 

He  jumped  to  his  feet,  the  dog  along  with  him. 

**Mr.  von  Prell,  I  should  like  to  speak  with  you." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  to  remove  his  cap,  but  no 
cap  was  there. 

*' I  am  at  my  lady's  service." 

*'Will  you  accompany  me  a  little  way?" 
^*At  my  lady's  service." 

He  threw  away  the  stump  of  his  cigarette,  glanced  about 
hastily  for  his  vanished  cap,  then  walked  at  her  side  bare- 
headed, stiff  as  a  puppet  in  his  extravagant  respect. 


The  Song  of  Songs  205 

Lilly  led  the  way  into  the  interior  of  the  park,  where 
the  clusters  of  trees  and  the  open  grassy  spaces  melted  into 
purple-edged  darkness.  She  had  gotten  back  her  calm. 
The  desire  to  save  him  gave  her  strength  of  which  she  had 
not  deemed  herself  capable. 

**You  must  not  misunderstand  my  coming  to  you,'*  she 
began. 

** Certainly  not,  my  lady,''  he  replied,  bowing  obsequi- 
ously. *'The  evening  is  so  lovely,  and  old  acquaintances 
like  to  chat  with  each  other  once  in  a  while." 

*'If  I  had  wanted  anything  like  that,"  said  Lilly,  mak- 
ing no  effort  to  conceal  her  sense  of  insult,  '*I  should 
have  invited  you  to  the  castle.  If  I  come  to  you  instead, 
you  can  readily  imagine  the  matter  is  more  important." 

**What  can  be  more  important  to  me  than  strolling  here 
at  my  lady's  side?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

*'0h,  Mr.  von  Prell,  if  you  knew  the  difficulty  you  were 
in,  you  would  take  care  not  to  indulge  in  such  talk. ' ' 

Lilly  had  never  thought  herself  capable  of  so  miich 
haughtiness. 

**What  difficulty  can  I  be  in,  my  lady?"  he  rejoined, 
raising  his  brows  and  wrinkling  his  forehead.  *'My  soul 
has  worn  half -mourning  ever  since  I  was  condemned  to  live 
in  a  certain  close  distance  from,  or,  rather,  a  certain  dis- 
tant proximity  to — my  gracious  lady.  Whether  Tommy 
and  myself  possess  the  character  for  enduring  this  trial — 
come,  come  Tommy,  don't  be  a  goose.  Our  lady  benefac- 
tress will  have  no  objections  to  your  not  treading  on  her 
train." 

Tommy  obrtinately  planted  his  forelegs  and  had  to  be 
'dragged  along  like  a  lifeless  toy. 

**You'll  strangle  the  poor  little  beast,"  said  Lilly,  happy 
to  have  found  a  way  of  avoiding  his  personalities. 


206  The  Song  of  Songs 

''He  will  simply  be  sharing  the  sensations  of  his  mas- 
ter/' said  Von  Prell,  illustrating  his  reply  by  clutching  at 
his  throat  and  emitting  a  horrible  gurgle. 

Such  behaviour  must  no  longer  be  permitted.  Lilly  owed 
it  to  herself  and  her  position  to  resent  it. 

**Mr.  von  Prell/'  she  said  very  condescendingly,  **do 
you  realize  that  by  the  same  time  to-morrow  you  will 
probably  have  been  dismissed  ? ' ' 

He  was  touched  at  last.  He  frowned  and  bit  the  ends  of 
his  moustache;  but  then  he  s^id: 

''What  gives  me  some  satisfaction  in  the  fact  is  that  my 
lady  seems  to  take  no  slight  interest  in  the  matter.  * ' 

Now  she  became  angry  in  earnest. 

''You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Mr.  von  Prell," 
she  cried.  "I  wear  myself  out  and  take  great  risks  trying 
to  help  you,  and  you  show  your  gratitude  by  making  silly 
remarks  all  the  time." 

"Courage,  Tommy,"  he  said,  taking  the  dog  in  his 
arms.  "First  they  flay  us,  then  they  kick  us  out.  Our 
one  comfort  is,  we  are  innocent  sufferers.  Poor,  poor 
Tommy." 

"Don't  try  to  whitewash  yourself,"  Lilly  reprimanded. 
"Mass  von  Schwertfeger  discovered  everything — your  rela- 
tions— ^you  understand — your  nightly  trips  to  my  balcony 
and  through  my  room — everything.  Do  you  think  I  take 
pleasure  in  having  to  treat  you  like  a  criminal  when  I've 
always  thought  so  much  of  you?  Don't  you  think  I'd 
much  rather  be  proud  of  you,  than  stand  here  and  see 
you  driven  away  like  a  stray  dog?  Or  can  you  say  any- 
thing in  justification  of  yourself?     Can  you?     Tell  me." 

She  talked  herself  into  such  warmth  that  she  forgot  the 
unseemliness  of  her  being  there  with  him.  She  was  now 
that  which  she  wanted  to  be — the  benevolent  chatelaine, 
who  turns  everything  to  good  account;  and  her  breast 


The  Song  of  Songs  207 

swelled  with  the  consciousness  of  her  lofty  ethical  un- 
dertaking. 

They  had  stepped  from  under  the  dark  arches  of  the 
linden  walk.  A  few  sharply  defined  streaks  of  red  still 
coloured  the  west,  and  cast  a  deep  glow  over  his  narrow, 
freckled  face. 

He  looked  completely  crushed  and  penitent,  and  Lilly 
regretted  having  dealt  with  him  so  harshly. 

**I  realise,*'  he  began  after  a  short  pause,  his  voice  quiv- 
ering as  with  suppressed  excitement,  *'I  realise  I  must 
not  let  so  grave  a  charge  go  without  justifying  myself. 
And  I  can  justify  myself,  I  most  undoubtedly  can.  But 
in  doing  so,  I  am  compelled  to  disclose  a  secret,  which — I 
really  do  not  know  if  I  ought  to  initiate  you  into  the  horri- 
ble mysteries  that  threaten  to  ruin  my  life." 

**What  are  they?''  queried  Lilly,  in  terrified  curiosity. 

"Well,  then,  from  my  boyhood  up  I  have  been  pursued 
by  an  awful  fate,  which  comes  upon  me  when  I  am  utterly 
defenceless  and  imposes  upon  me  responsibility  for  mis- 
deeds of  which  I  am  absolutely  innocent,  and  places  me  in 
breakneck  situations,  which — I  will  be  outspoken — I  am — 
well,  I  am  a  somnambulist." 

The  merry  little  devils  frolicked  between  his  silvery  lids, 
and  Lilly,  in  spite  of  herself,  burst  out  laughing.  He 
joined  in  with  his  dear,  mute  tehee,  which  shook  him  like 
a  storm;  and  they  stood  there  laughing  till  they  wearied. 
Lilly  no  longer  thought  of  her  chatelaine's  dignity,  or  her 
ethical  mission. 

As  if  by  mutual  agreement  they  turned  into  the  de- 
serted depths  of  the  park,  which  bordered  on  a  bosky  beech 
grove  with  neither  fence  nor  hedge  between. 

It  grew  darker  at  each  step. 

Tommy  resigning  himself  to  his  fate  trotted  behind  hi* 
master  obediently. 


208  The  Song  of  Songs 

''Well/*  said  Von  Prell,  after  they  had  recovered  from 
their  laugh,  ' '  why  should  I  try  to  throw  dust  in  your  eyes  ? 
I  am  a  poor  pickerel  floundering  here  on  dry  land.  Have 
you  the  faintest  notion  of  what  it  means  to  keep  company 
with  three  plebeians  and  lead  a  useful  vegetable  existence, 
and  from  morning  till  evening  steadfastly  practise  duti- 
fulness  and  uprightness?  It's  more  than  a  fellow  can 
stomach.  I  tell  you,  it's  enough  to  drive  him  to  a  dose  of 
castor  oil.  Tommy  self-denyingly  helps  me  tide  over  the 
worst  moments,  but  every  now  and  then  he,  too,  is  a  dis- 
appointment to  me.  Will  my  lady  permit  me  to  use  this 
occasion  for  asking  her  an  extremely  important  question  ? '  * 

Pleased  at  his  having  grown  serious,  Lilly  assented. 

**Can  you — can  you  wag  your  ears?'' 

She  succumbed  to  another  paroxysm  of  laughter  as  to 
a  spell  of  sickness,  leaning  against  a  tree  and  panting  for 
breath,  while  he  continued  with  profound  affliction  in  his 
voice : 

**I  am  master  of  the  modest  art  and  have  been  proud  to 
exercise  my  skill  ever  since  I  was  at  high  school,  where  it 
was  considered  the  acme  of  human  accomplishments.  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  train  Tommy  to  do  the  same  trick, 
and  I  spent  many  an  hour  over  him  in  difficult  intellec- 
tual effort,  but  without  result.  One  day,  however,  I  dis- 
covered he  could  wag  his  ears  much  better  than  I  can,  and, 
I  assume,  always  had  been  able  to.  Only  he  did  it  when 
he  wanted  to,  not  when  I  wanted  him  to.  Isn't  that 
distressing?  Doesn't  it  reflect  the  general  aimlessness  of 
human  endeavour?  0  dearest  baronissima,  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  soon  become  a  great  philosopher  out  of  sheer  bore- 
dom.'^ 

Lilly  could  now  see  only  the  outline  of  his  figure,  behind 
which  the  dog's  eyes  glowed  like  two  beacon  lights.  Since 
her  school  days  she  had  not  abandoned  herself  so  com- 


The  Song  of  Songs  209 

pletely  to  a  spirit  of  pure  fun,  and  she  had  to  wait  until 
a  pause  came  in  her  laughing  before  she  could  tell  him  it 
was  high  time  to  be  returning. 

He  obediently  turned  on  his  heels,  transferring  Tommy's 
chain  from  one  hand  to  the  other. 

The  catastrophe  that  menaced  him  seemed  to  have 
passed  from  his  mind.  Lilly,  therefore,  since  time  pressed 
and  something  had  to  be  done  for  him,  took  the  bit  be- 
tween her  teeth,  and  reported  what  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
intended  to  do,  and  what  she  demanded  from  him  as  the 
price  of  her  silence. 

Lilly  was  helping  him,  but  not  with  that  beautiful,  dig- 
nified air  of  superiority  with  which  she  had  wanted  to  hold 
out  her  rescuing  hand.  She  felt  she  was  like  a  playmate 
of  his,  and  every  few  moments  a  half-suppressed  giggle 
interrupted  her  speech. 

'  *  The  worthy  dame  has  an  unconquerable  desire  to  stand 
about  on  people 's  toes, ' '  said  Von  Prell.  *  *  But  since  we  Ve 
gotten  ourselves  into  a  scrape,  my  dear  little  Tommy,  we'll 
have  to  juggle  to  get  ourselves  out  of  it.  Thank  you  very 
much,  my  lady.  In  accordance  with  your  instructions  I 
will  go  to  her  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me — before  going  I'll 
oil  my  speaking  apparatus.  I  will  be  more  than  repent- 
ant, I  will  even  be  roguish.  That  works  on  respectable 
old  maids  like  Spanish  fly.  And  I  will  use  the  opportunity 
to  the  best  advantage  for  our  future  intercourse  with  each 
other — provided  of  course,  my  young  queen  agrees." 

Oh,  she  agreed  fully ! 

*'But  how  will  you  do  it?"  she  asked  fearfully. 

*' Leave  the  matter  to  me,"  he  replied.  **Your  duenna 
is  a  knowing  old  beast.  But  I  am  even  more  knowing.  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  to-morrow  I  didn't  earn  an  oc- 
casional supper  in  the  castle,  at  which  I  shall  have  the  op- 
portunity of  looking  into  the  eyes  of  my  exalted  mistress 


210  The  Song  of  Songs 

without  being  observed  by  the  two  High  Mightinesses.*' 

There  were  several  things  in  his  speech  that  grated  on 
Lilly.  He  might  make  merry  as  much  as  he  pleased  at 
Miss  von  Schwertf eger 's  expense,  but  the  colonel  stood  on 
too  high  a  plane  to  be  the  butt  of  his  ridicule.  And  now 
that  Von  Prell  was  out  of  danger,  it  occurred  to  Lilly  for 
the  first  time  how  detestable  his  conduct  had  been,  and  how 
lacking  in  character  she  was  to  be  sauntering  about  with 
him  in  the  dark,  laughing  at  his  sallies. 

'  *  One  moment,  Mr.  von  Prell, '  *  she  said.  *  *  I  warned  you 
of  the  danger  you  were  in,  because  I  thought  I  owed  it 
to  our  former  friendship.  But  now  that  I  have  told  you, 
we  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  each  other.  My  time  is 
up.     Good  evening,  Mr.  von  Prell.'* 

With  that  she  hurried  on  ahead  along  the  obscure  wood 
path,  and  gave  no  look  around.  Suddenly  she  felt  some- 
thing soft  and  warm  and  living  slip  between  her  feet.  She 
screamed  and  turned  about  for  Von  PrelPs  help.  At  the 
same  instant  a  chain  wound  itself  about  her  ankle,  and 
held  her  fast. 

Since  she  and  Von  Prell  had  turned  back,  the  dog  in 
his  eagerness  to  get  home,  had  been  straining  on  the  chain 
with  all  his  might,  and  had  taken  her  hastening  off  as  a 
signal  to  break  away,  thus  entangling  himself  in  her  dress. 
The  more  he  tugged  the  more  painfully  the  chain  cut  into 
her  flesh. 

That  made  an  end  of  Lilly's  ire. 

Von  Prell  had  to  kneel  and  hold  down  the  unruly  little 
animal,  while  he  unwound  the  chain  from  her  ankle. 

** Tommy,  Tommy,  what  have  we  done?  We  have  griev- 
ously hurt  our  noble  mistress.  We  can't  be  blamed  for 
pulling  at  our  chains,  but  if  in  doing  so  we  get  under 
people's  skirts,  we  give  great  offence.  Shame  on  you, 
you  rascal." 


The  Song  of  Songs  211 

He  planted  a  kiss  on  the  dog's  pointed  little  snout. 

** Doesn't  he  ever  bite?"  asked  Lilly  with  interest. 

"He  has  had  the  benefit  of  a  rigorous  military  training, 
as  a  result  of  which  he  has  grown  accustomed  to  kisses. ' ' 

Another  burst  of  gaiety.  Von  Prell  held  the  struggling 
little  ball  of  wool  up  to  Lilly,  and  asked  whether  she 
would  like  to  try  a  kiss,  too. 

Laughing  she  declined,  and,  laughing,  she  went  home 
with  him. 

Characterless  as  she  was. 

Still  laughing  aloud,  she  entered  the  lighted  hall  of  the 
castle,  where  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  met  her  with  great 
reproachful  eyes. 

*^ Where  have  you  been,  my  dear?"  she  asked,  evidently 
prepared  to  meet  the  grave  situation  in  a  mild  spirit,  while 
subjecting  Lilly,  none  the  less,  to  a  keen  cross-examination. 

**He's  so  funny!"  Lilly  sang  out,  hiding  her  face  red 
with  laughter  on  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 's  shoulder. 

*^Did  you—'' 

**0f  course  I  did.  Do  you  suppose  I'd  leave  such  a 
delightful,  jolly  old  friend  of  mine  in  the  lurch?" 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger 's  face  became  rigid. 

Lilly  gave  herself  a  little  shake  and  uttered  a  joyous 
gurgle.  Then  she  ran  off  to  her  room,  undressed,  and 
burying  her  head  in  the  pillows  laughed  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

In  laughter  it  began,  and  in  laughter  continued. 

"When  Lilly  awoke  the  next  morning  she  saw  that  every- 
thing about  her,  the  chandelier,  the  washstand,  and  the 
pretty,  sentimental  gleaner  on  the  wall,  had  assumed  a 
new  aspect,  and  the  sun  was  shining  twice  as  brightly. 

She  stepped  to  the  mirror  in  her  nightgown,  and  forth- 
with had  to  laugh  again  at  the  reflection  she  saw  there,  a 
veritable  street  Arab's  face  with  sly,  darting  eyes  and 
saucy  nose. 

At  breakfast  she  fairly  sparkled  with  playful  conceits, 
chased  the  stiff-legged  colonel  about  the  table,  and  felt  a 
warm  sense  of  gratitude  toward  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
rise  within  her. 

As  for  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  she  smiled  to  herself  sig- 
nificantly ;  and  when  the  colonel  left  the  room,  caught  Lilly 
by  her  ears,  kissed  her  on  her  forehead,  and  said: 

'* You  baby,  you.'' 

She  made  no  reference  to  the  confession  Lilly  had  let  slip 
that  she  and  Von  Prell  were  old  friends.  In  fact,  to  judge 
by  her  manner,  you  might  suppose  she  had  not  heard  it. 

Lilly  ran  up  to  her  balcony,  pushed  aside  the  creepers, 
and  sent  a  summoning  nod  to  Von  Prell,  who  was  walking 
up  and  down  uncertainly  between  the  castle  and  the  lodge. 

He  understood,  bowed,  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  the  terrace  steps. 

What  took  place  between  him  and  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
remained  a  secret;  and  there  was  no  finding  out  whether 
or  no  she  had  questioned  him  in  regard  to  his  former  rela- 

212 


The  Song  of  Songs  213 

tions  with  the  colonel's  wife.  But  whatever  the  doubts 
on  that  score,  the  success  of  his  interview  was  indisputable. 
So  far  from  having  to  slink  away  from  the  place,  he  ap- 
peared at  the  supper  table  that  very  same  day,  ushered  in 
by  the  colonel  himself.  In  his  striped  coat,  white  waist- 
coat and  high  collar,  in  which  his  face  lay  almost  buried, 
and  wearing  his  most  respectful  expression,  he  was  the 
very  embodiment  of  correctness. 

'*I  heard,"  said  the  colonel,  leading  him  to  Lilly,  'Hhat 
Mr.  von  Prell  doesn't  feel  entirely  happy  over  there  in  the 
lodge.  If  you  have  no  objections  he  will  come  to  meals 
oftener  after  this." 

Lilly  hadn  't  the  slightest  objections.  The  thought,  how- 
ever, that  Katie  would  appear  in  the  doorway  the  next  in- 
stant almost  choked  her.  But  another  maid  took  Katie's 
place  in  handing  old  Ferdinand  the  dishes.  Lilly  gave 
Miss  von  Schwertfeger  a  questioning  look,  which  she  an- 
swered in  a  whisper,  so  as  not  to  be  overheard  by  the 
gentlemen : 

*'The  poor  girl  got  very  sick,  and  asked  for  a  long 
leave  of  absence.  Most  likely  she  will  never  come  back 
again. ' ' 

In  her  gratification  Lilly  impetuously  pressed  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger 's  hand  under  the  table.  She  had  a  dim  idea 
that  Katie  had  been  dismissed  in  order  to  spare  her  the 
repugnance  of  witnessing  something  impure. 

The  gentlemen  without  delay  plunged  deep  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  the  cavalry,  richly  interlarding  their  talk  with 
proper  names. 

Mr.  von  Prell  sat  inclined  toward  the  colonel  to  take 
in  the  instructions  of  his  old  commander,  and  kept  blink- 
ing his  lids  in  respectful  attention.  The  colonel  dominated 
like  a  wrathful  god.  He  spoke  gruffly  and  noisily  and 
shot  out  his  dagger  glances  as  if  to  mow  down  rank  after 


214  The  Song  of  Songs 

rank  of  the  enemy's  army.  But  this  was  nothing  else  than 
a  craftsman's  vain  joy  in  his  work. 

Lilly  listened,  and  would  gladly  have  taken  part  in  the 
conversation,  but  the  men  had  forgotten  her  presence,  and 
a  jealous  gloom  clouded  her  spirit,  for  which  she  did  not 
know  whether  to  blame  the  colonel  or  Von  Prell. 

When  Von  Prell  rose  to  take  leave  the  colonel  laying 
his  hand  on  the  young  man 's  shoulder  said : 

**See  here,  why  haven't  we  done  this  before?"  The 
glance  he  sent  Lilly  seemed  to  signify :  *  *  Such  an  amount 
of  caution  was  really  unnecessary." 

When  the  first  cool  days  in  September  brought  on  the 
colonel's  gout  again,  and  his  visits  to  town  had  to  be  post- 
poned indefinitely.  Von  Prell 's  invitations  to  supper  grew 
more  frequent. 

The  colonel  groaned  and  cursed  each  time  he  mounted  a 
horse,  though  he  refused  to  listen  to  Lilly  when  she  pled 
with  him  to  give  up  his  morning  gallop. 

**Too  bad  all  of  you  are  always  so  dreadfully  concerned 
about  me,"  she  observed,  "because  sometimes  I  might  take 
your  place  in  riding  about  the  country." 

The  colonel  and  his  housekeeper  exchanged  looks. 

** After  all,  it's  a  shame  she  can't  ride  horseback.  Any 
decent  sort  of  a  riding  master  might  take  her  in  hand.  My 
morning  excursion  is  more  than  enough  for  me.  What  do 
you  think,  Anna,  can  we  entrust  her  to  that  humbug  Von 
Prell?" 

Lilly's  face  lighted  up  with  joy.  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
let  her  eyes  rest  on  her  glowing  cheeks  and  said  very 
slowly,  as  if  to  chew  the  cud  of  every  word : 

"You  know  Von  Prell  is  reckless.  What  if  he  should 
bring  our  darling  back  to  us  some  day  with  broken  bones  ? 
At  all  events,  it  seems  to  me,  before  deciding,  we  had 
better  consider  the  matter  carefully." 


The  Song  of  Songs  215 

Though  Lilly  took  good  care  not  to  utter  a  syllable  ex- 
pressive of  desire  or  opposition,  she  was  not  successful,  ap- 
parently, in  concealing  her  secret  wishes ;  for  the  next  time 
they  were  alone  together,  Miss  yon  Schwertfeger  suddenly 
took  Lilly's  face  between  her  hands  and  said: 

**Get  rid  of  the  idea,  darling.  Do.  Believe  me,  it*a 
better  so.'* 

About  this  time  Lilly  made  a  remarkable  and  somewhat 
suspicious  find.  She  enjoyed  going  on  expeditions  of  dis- 
covery through  the  spacious  castle,  only  part  of  which  was 
inhabited;  and  on  one  occasion  while  rummaging  about  in 
one  of  the  third-story  guest  rooms,  now  seldom  used,  she 
extracted  from  a  chiffonier  a  light  gauze  shirt,  covered  with 
silver  spangles  and  shot  with  silver  thread,  resembling  the 
shirt  she  had  often  had  to  wear  during  the  Dresden  stay 
before  going  to  bed.  Her  own  shirt  these  days  hung  un- 
disturbed in  her  closet,  from  which  it  had  not  been  re- 
moved even  for  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 's  inspection,  be- 
cause Lilly  was  a  little  ashamed  of  it. 

Her  curiosity  was  piqued  by  the  vestment  she  had  found, 
and  folding  it  carefully  she  went  down  to  question  her 
friend  about  it. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  was  sitting  over  her  account 
books,  and  scarcely  looked  up  when  Lilly  entered.  But 
suddenly  the  gleam  of  the  tinsel  in  the  sunlight  attracted 
her  attention.  A  quiver  ran  through  her  body.  Her  eyes 
widened,  her  figure  stiffened,  as  if  she  were  looking  at  a 
ghost. 

''What*s  the  matter?  What's  the  matter?"  laughed 
Lilly. 

**I  thought  I  had  cleared  up  thoroughly,"  she  said,  shak- 
ing herself. 

She  snatched  the  garment  from  Lilly's  hand,  wrapped 
it  up  in  a  piece  of  paper,  and  carried  it  to  the  kitchen, 


216  The  Song  of  Songs 

followed  by  Lilly,  who  saw  a  whirl  of  smoke  carry  bits  of 
silver  thread  up  the  hearth  chimney. 

Old  Maggie  stood  by  looking  in  bewilderment  from  one 
to  the  other.  She  seemed  to  know  what  the  discovery  in- 
volved, but  later,  when  Lilly  tried  to  extract  information 
from  her,  she  had  lost  her  faculty  of  speech. 

*'I  didn't  always  use  to  be  just  where  the  colonel  was,'* 
she  stuttered.  *'Ask  Miss  von  Schwertfeger.  She  knows. 
Shell  tell  you.'' 

But  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  would  not  tell.  She  went 
about  with  compressed  lips,  gave  short  answers  when 
spoken  to,  and  kept  her  extinct  eyes  fastened  upon  empty 
space. 

One  evening  at  supper,  her  demeanour,  apparently  from 
no  external  cause,  underwent  a  sudden  change.  She 
laughed,  chatted,  was  tender  to  Lilly,  and  attentive  to  her 
master,  pitying  him  on  account  of  his  pain,  suggesting 
new  remedies,  and  obtaining  his  promise  to  give  up  hia 
Tnorning  ride. 

*  *  By  the  way, ' '  she  went  on,  * '  as  to  Lilly 's  taking  riding 
lessons,  I've  thought  it  over  carefully,  and  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  if  we  are  present — at  first,  at  least — 
we  may  entrust  her  to  the  young  man." 

Lilly  fetched  a  deep  sigh  of  joy;  but  the  two  pairs  of 
eyes  could  not  have  detected  the  trace  of  a  smile  on  her 
face,  the  faintest  glimmer  of  delight,  so  well  had  she 
learned  to  keep  herself  under  control. 

The  next  morning  the  riding  lessons  began,  with  the 
colonel  and  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  of  course,  in  attend- 
ance. 

Walter  von  Prell  appeared  in  riding  boots  and  a  jockey's 
cap.  The  forward  inclination  of  the  upper  part  of  his 
body  seemed  to  signify,  **I  am  awaiting  orders,"  and  his 


The  Song  of  Songs  217 

respectfulness  and  obsequiousness  kept  him  shifting  from 
one  foot  to  the  other. 

For  the  first  essay  they  had  chosen  a  lamblike  grey  mare, 
narrow-chested  and  somewhat  overtrained  in  the  fore- 
hand, yet  a  smart,  well-fed  animal. 

Mr.  von  Prell  proceeded  very  methodically  to  explain  the 
construction  of  the  saddle  and  bridle,  showed  Lilly  how 
the  girths  are  buckled,  how  the  snaffle  and  curb  rein  have 
to  lie,  and  how  to  keep  the  curb  chain  from  choking  the 
horse. 

Next  came  learning  how  to  mount.  When  Lilly  for  the 
first  time  put  her  foot  on  his  interlaced  fingers  she  felt  a 
warm  thrill  to  the  very  back  of  her  neck,  as  if  this  contact 
with  him  were  a  sign  of  secret  understanding  between 
them. 

**One,  two,  three,"  he  counted,  and  there  she  was  in 
the  saddle. 

The  colonel  clapped  his  hands  in  approval,  and  Walter 
von  Prell  blushed  with  pride  to  the  roots  of  his  blond 
hair. 

From  now  on  he  had  the  game  in  his  hands. 

*' Who'd  have  thought  that  blusterer  has  such  a  lot  of 
pedantry  in  his  make-up  ? ' '  said  the  colonel  turning  to  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger,  who  nodded  silently  and  took  a  deep 
breath,  as  if  something  were  oppressing  her. 

By  the  time  Lilly  was  ready  to  dismount,  she  had  learned 
how  to  draw  in  the  reins  and  slacken  them  and  to  turn  to 
the  right  or  the  left;  and  she  had  even  ventured  a  trot 
about  the  yard.  In  short,  as  the  colonel  good-humouredly 
remarked,  **She  was  on  the  road  to  becoming  the  most 
dashing  horsewoman  in  the  army.'' 

The  lessons  followed  in  quick  succession.  Either  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger  or  the  colonel  was  always  present,  and 


218  The  Song  of  Songs 

there  was  no  opportunity  for  private  conversation  between 
Lilly  and  Von  Prell. 

Von  Prell  maintained  his  stiff,  abject  obsequiousness, 
while  Lilly  burned  with  the  desire  to  see  his  waggery  flash 
up  in  a  look  or  word  intelligible  to  her  alone. 

One  day,  it  chanced,  both  guards  were  absent. 

The  colonel  was  busied  with  the  construction  of  a  riding- 
ring,  in  which  his  gout  might  defy  the  inclemencies  of  the 
weather,  and  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  was  nowhere  to  be 
found. 

Lilly 's  heart  beat  violently  when  she  met  her  friend,  and 
the  smile  with  which  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  ex- 
pressed uneasy  triumph. 

He  responded  with  a  sly  thrust  of  his  tongue  in  the 
direction  of  the  terrace,  where  her  honour  was  wont  to 
stand. 

**She  couldn't  be  found  anywhere,*'  whispered  Lilly. 

**What  will  we  do?"  he  moaned,  wringing  his  hands. 
**Why,  without  the  worthy  dame's  protection  we  shan't 
even  be  able  to  mount." 

Deep  blue  heavens  arched  above.  A  cool  breeze,  heavy 
with  the  smell  of  freshly  turned  soil,  blew  across  the  court- 
yard. 

He  pointed  with  a  wily  look  to  the  open  gate. 

She  laughed  and  nodded  assent. 

The  next  minute  she  was  galloping  at  his  side  along  the 
grassy  wood  path,  where  no  Argus  eyes  could  follow  her, 
in  utter  abandon,  inwardly  exulting  and  eagerly  expectant 
of  mad  pranks  to  be  played. 

Von  Prell,  for  his  part,  seemed  indisposed  to  avail  him- 
self of  his  unhoped  for  liberty.  He  held  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  road  in  front,  every  now  and  then  caught  at  her  reins, 
regulated  the  length  of  the  stirrup,  and  made  her  sit  better 


The  Song  of  Songs  219 

in  the  saddle.    He  was  the  riding  master,  nothing  else. 

** How's  Tommy?''  she  asked  at  length,  bored. 

** Tommy  sends  his  regards,"  he  replied,  without  re- 
moving his  gaze  from  the  road,  **and  says  we'd  better  pay 
attention  to  nothing  but  the  horses  to-day,  because  if  some- 
thing should  happen  we'd  never  be  allowed  to  go  out 
again." 

**And  I  send  my  regards  to  Tommy,  and  tell  him  he's 
a  goose." 

"I  wiU  without  fail,"  he  rejoined,  and  nodded  his  rid- 
ing crop. 

They  now  entered  a  grove  of  birch  trees,  where  the 
ground  was  somewhat  boggy  and  demanded  added^  atten- 
tion. 

But  Lilly  had  eyes  for  nothing  but  the  silvery  gleam  of 
the  trunks  and  the  golden  webs  which  quivered  in  the 
wind  and  floated  down  on  her  cheeks. 

**0h,  see  how  beautiful!"  she  said  with  a  blissful  sigh. 

**Walk  your  horse,  please." 

A  demon  took  possession  of  Lilly.  Touching  her  horse 
with  her  crop  she  went  off  in  a  mad  gallop  that  was  con- 
trary to  all  the  rules  and  regulations  of  horseback  riding. 

The  next  instant,  however.  Von  Prell  was  at  her  side 
gripping  her  reins  and  pulling  up  both  horses. 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  flashing  eyes. 

Lilly  felt  she  had  to  throw  herself  over  toward  him  just 
to  be  nearer  to  him. 

**Say,  Lilly,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  hissed. 

She  started  and  showed  her  white  teeth. 

**Say,  Walter,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  she  retorted. 

They  turned  the  horses'  heads  and  rode  back  home 
slowly,  in  silence,  without  looking  at  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

The  threshing  machine  had  been  singing  its  autumnV 
song  for  many  a  day.  Its  monotonous  whirr  could  be 
heard  far  beyond  the  castle  court.  It  carried  no  message 
of  golden  blessings  or  glowing  crystallised  sunlight.  From 
morning  till  late  at  night  it  moaned  and  howled  like  an 
aeolian  harp  in  stormbeaten  branches;  and  sometimes  soft, 
long-drawn  cries  burst  from  its  entrails,  as  if  the  sheaves 
it  was  torturing  and  tearing  had  been  endowed  with  speech. 

So  much  dreamy  bliss  dwelt  again  in  Lilly 's  soul  that  she 
got  nothing  but  allurement  and  yearning  from  this  music, 
which  entirely  obsessed  her  in  her  morning  slumber  and 
kept  her  lying  in  bed  a  long  time  in  a  drowsy  half-sleep 
the  better  to  listen  to  its  even,  unvarying  singsong. 

All  the  while  she  thought  of  him. 

A  comrade,  a  playmate,  that  was  what  she  had  needed 
all  along,  some  one  in  whose  company  to  make  merry  and 
complain,  some  one  who  would  confess  all  his  follies,  his 
most  secret  sins,  and  then  receive  laughing  absolution.  For 
whatever  his  crime,  he  was  not  the  guilty  one;  his  youth 
was  the  sinner,  the  same  sweet,  mischievous  youth  which 
filled  her  soul  with  melancholy  and  her  body  with  shud- 
dering, which  dominated  them  both  like  a  beneficent  yet 
tormenting  divinity,  who  favoured  the  one  and  ruined  the 
other. 

He  had  to  be  saved — saved  from  his  own  frivolity,  from 
that  fatal  condition  of  his  soul  which  threatened  to  en- 
tangle and  choke  him  in  a  net  of  vulgar  escapades.  Ru- 
mours of  the  low  life  he  was  leading  kept  cropping  up  not 

220 


The  Song  of  Songs  221 

to  be  silenced,  and  she  needed  but  to  step  inside  the 
servants '  hall  for  a  stream  of  gossip  to  come  gushing  over 
I  her  like  a  jet  of  dirty  water. 

Her  first  intervention  was  to  be  only  the  beginning  of 
the  great  mission  she  had  to  perform  in  his  life.  She 
would  be  his  good  genius,  walking  before  him  and  holding 
up  her  hands  against  every  evil  temptation,  until  he  had 
become  as  pure,  as  undesirous  as  herself. 

Thus  she  dreamed  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  threshing 
machine. 

The  first  ride  beyond  the  castle  gates,  though  taken  with- 
out permission,  had  been  approved,  even  commended;  and 
others  were  to  follow.  But  Lilly  hesitated.  She  wanted 
to  learn  a  decent  canter,  she  said,  before  venturing  upon 
new  roads.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  burning  with 
eagerness  for  another  such  hour  in  Von  Prell's  company, 
and  merely  lacked  the  courage  to  bring  it  about. 

The  morning  after  that  first  ride  he  was  the  same  cring- 
ing riding  master  as  before,  outdoing  himself  in  respect- 
fulness and  over-polite  while  rigorous  in  imparting  in- 
struction. Lilly  had  fully  expected  he  would  whisper  a 
familiar  word  hinting  at  the  day  before,  a  soft  *' Lilly." 
There  was  plenty  of  opportunity,  but  nothing  of  the  sort 
took  place. 

The  next  few  lessons  went  in  the  same  fashion.  .  Neither 
Lilly  nor  Von  Prell  thought  of  leaving  the  courtyard.  But 
one  day  the  decree  went  forth  from  the  colonel  himself. 

**  Enough  of  this  hopping  about  on  the  gravel.  Get  out 
of  here  and  air  yourselves  in  the  wind  of  the  fields. '* 

*'At  your  command,  Colonel,"  said  Von  Prell,  touching 
his  cap.  He  rode  bis  horse  up  to  Lilly's  and  gently  steered 
both  of  them  out  of  the  gate. 

Her  heart  stood  still.    She  forgot  to  say  good-by  to  the 


222  The  Song  of  Songs 

colonel,  she  was  so  preoccupied  with  anticipation  of  the 
pleasure  in  store  for  her. 

They  went  the  same  road  that  had  brought  her  the  great 
experience  of  the  week  before. 

The  willows  dripped  with  dew  and  at  the  slightest  touch 
showered  down  a  rain  of  drops.  Lilly  laughed  and  shook 
herself.  Instead  of  joining  in,  he  guided  his  horse  to  the 
edge  of  the  road,  leaving  the  middle  to  her. 

**But  I  want  to  get  wet,''  she  said. 

**As  my  lady  says,'*  he  replied,  stiff  as  a  poker  in  his 
stupid,  artificial  respect. 

Then  they  rode  on  in  silence. 

When  they  reached  the  spot  where  the  great  event  had 
occurred  which  gave  the  lie  to  his  present  behaviour,  she 
ventured  to  send  him  a  furtive  sidelong  glance.  But  he 
did  not  respond,  seeming  not  to  have  noticed  her  look.  His 
jockey  cap  pulled  close  over  his  head  down  to  the  back  of 
his  neck,  his  thin,  tightly-drawn  face,  sprinkled  with  dew- 
drops,  his  boyish  body,  all  muscle  and  bone,  he  sat  on  his 
saddle  as  if  he  and  his  horse  were  one. 

**How  I  love  him,  in  spite  of  everything,  the  dear  little 
fellow,*'  she  thought,  and  pictured  to  herself  how  horribly 
abandoned  she  would  feel  if  ever  he  were  to  leave  the 
place.  And  it  became  clear  as  day  to  her  that  the  gay 
excitement  in  her  soul,  the  sense  of  abundance  in  her  life 
here  where  she  dwelt,  had  arisen  from  nothing  else  than 
his  always,  always  being  near  by. 

They  rode  along  at  an  even  gait.  The  brown  ridges 
bordering  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream  drew  nearer 
and  nearer.  Von  Prell  seemed  to  be  making  for  them, 
but  this  did  not  serve  her  purpose,  because  the  hour  for  a 
frank  talk  had  struck. 

To-day  or  never! 

She  made  a  great  effort  to  go  over  in  her  raind  what 


The  Song  of  Songs  223 

she  would  say  to  him.  But  her  thoughts  were  incoherent. 
She  had  to  keep  her  attention  fixed  on  the  horse;  and,  so 
long  as  she  remained  in  the  saddle  she  felt  herself  too 
much  under  Von  Prell's  control. 

Summoning  all  her  courage  she  asked : 

*' Can't  we  dismount?" 

He  paused  to  consider,  but  she  had  jumped  from  her 
horse  already,  and  he  had  just  time  enough  to  grasp  the 
mare's  snafSe.  He  reprimanded  her,  though  in  the  end 
hd  had  to  yield. 

They  walked  side  by  side,  Von  Prell  leading  both  horses 

The  path  led  through  a  stone  pit  sparsely  grown  with 
oak  trees  and  alders.  Golden  marigold  buttons  dotted  the 
marshy  spots,  and  the  bur-reed  stretched  out  its  bristly 
fruit  on  crinkled  arms.  Reddish  dock  raised  its  aging 
stalk  and  the  floating  grass  was  drawing  in  its  blades  in 
expectation  of  approaching  autumn. 

A  mountain-ash,  felled  by  a  storm,  stretched  diagonally 
from  the  side  of  the  road  across  the  ditch.  Its  purplish 
red  clusters  of  berries  glowed  like  flames  which  by  right 
should  have  been  extinguished  long  ago,  but  which  a  mys- 
terious life-force  kept  feeding. 

*'I'd  like  to  sit  here,"  said  Lilly 

He  bowed. 

**If  you  please." 

**But  you  must  sit  down,  too." 

**I  must  hold  the  horses,  my  lady.'* 

**You  can  tie  them  to  a  tree." 

He  considered  a  while. 

**I  can,"  he  said,  and  tied  the  reins  about  the  stump  or 
the  fallen  tree. 

When  he  was  about  to  sit  down  next  to  her,  she  moved 
nearer  to  the  middle  of  the  trunk  to  make  room  for  him, 
and  she  sat  with  her  feet  dangling  over  the  ditch  water. 


224  The  Song  of  Songs 

He  shoved  himself  after  her,  swinging  his  upper  body 
between  his  arms,  which  held  him  like  props. 

'*No  further,"  she  said.  She  did  not  want  him  too 
close  to  her. 

**At  my  lady's  service,'*  he  answered,  and  kicked  his 
heels. 

The  grotesque  stiffness  of  his  speech  annoyed  her. 

** Don't  you  know  a  better  way  of  addressing  me  when 
we  are  alone  ? ' '  she  asked,  looking  him  full  in  the  face. 

*a  do,  but  I  mustn't." 

''And  last  time — how  about  then?" 

*'It  happened  to  be  my  birthday,"  he  replied,  **and  I 
wanted  a  pretty  gift,  so  I  presented  that  to  myself." 

''And  to-day's  my, birthday,"  she  laughed.  "What  will 
you  present  me  with?" 

"Whatever  my  lady  wishes." 

"Call  me  comrade." 

"Once  or  always?" 

"Always." 

"Just  say  comrade,  or  be  comrade,  too?" 

"Be,  be,  be,"  she  cried.     "The  being  is  the  chief  thing." 

"Agreed!"  he  said,  cautiously  sliding  his  right  hand 
along  the  swaying  trunk. 

* '  Agreed ! ' '  she  said,  and  they  shook  hands  on  it. 

"There's  something  else  to  be  passed  upon  in  connec- 
tion with  this,"  he  observed,  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"What's  that?" 

"Is  this  comradeship  to  be  accompanied  or  not  to  be 
accompanied  by  the  use  of  the  first  name?" 

"Not,"  rejoined  Lilly,  thinking  she  had  made  a  great 
sacrifice. 

He  took  the  prohibition  at  its  face  value  and  said  obedi- 
ently : 

"As  my  comrade  wishes." 


The  Song  of  Songs  225 

Now  her  time  had  come.  Lilly  drew  in  a  deep  breath 
and  said: 

"I  have  something  very  serious  to  say  to  you,  Mr.  Von 
Prell.*' 

He  seemed  to  suspect  evil. 

**Ouch/'  he  said,  and  bit  his  gloved  thumb. 

Lilly  began.  She  would  say  absolutely  nothing  about 
that  affair  with  Katie,  even  though  it  was  very  dreadful, 
because  what  is  to  be  forgiven  must  also  be  forgotten.  But 
if  he  thought  the  life  he  had  been  leading  ever  since  he  had 
come  to  Lischnitz  had  remained  a  secret,  he  was  greatly 
mistaken.  Even  the  scrubbing  women  laughed  at  him 
behind  his  back.  But  he  couldn't  expect  anything  else,  if 
he — and  she  recounted  the  list  of  his  sins,  which,  in  spite 
of  herself,  had  reached  her  ears  from  the  servants'  hall. 

Lilly  was  ashamed  of  what  she  said.  She  had  meant  to 
speak  of  entirely  different  things — of  the  loftiness  of  hu- 
man existence,  of  the  greatness  of  self-abnegation,  of  keep- 
ing oneself  pure  for  the  sake  of  genuine  feelings,  of  the 
mysterious  spiritual  union  of  the  elect  on  earth,  and  much 
more  in  the  same  strain.  But  when  she  saw  him,  as  he 
sat  there  with  his  back  curved  and  his  feet  turned  inward, 
causing  bulbs  to  appear  and  disappear  on  the  soft  leather 
of  his  riding  boots  where  they  covered  his  big  toes,  nothing 
better  occurred  to  her. 

He  did  not  interrupt  her. 

When  she  had  concluded  he  maintained  silence  and  oc- 
cupied himself  with  following  the  movements  of  an  insect 
which  was  wriggling  in  the  dark,  slimy  water  of  the  ditch. 

**Have  you  nothing  to  say,"  she  asked,  ** after  I  have 
reproached  you  with  such  disgraceful  behaviour  T' 

"What  should  I  have  to  say?"  he  asked  in  turn.  **My 
one  claim  to  celebrity  is  my  being  a  man  utterly  devoid  of 
moral  fibre.     Should  I  lose  that  one  claim,  too?" 


226  The  Song  of  Songs 

**If  you  have  nothing  within  yourself  to  hold  you  up, 
lean  on  me,"  she  cried,  glowing  with  eagerness.  **Let  me 
be  your  friend,  your  adviser,  your — " 

** Foster-father,*'  he  suggested,  and  swished  about  the 
slime  with  his  crop. 

She  realised  that  everything  she  said  was  lost  on  him; 
that  he  even  seized  whatever  opportunity  offered  to  make 
merry  at  her  expense. 

** Please  get  up  and  let  me  by,**  she  said.  *' Why  should 
I  cast  what  is  best  in  me  before  one  who  is  unworthy  ?  *  * 

He  made  no  movement  to  leave  his  seat. 

**Look,  comrade,**  he  said,  pointing  to  the  dark,  mirror- 
like surface  of  the  water.  **A  water  spider  is  gliding 
about  there  all  the  time  with  its  legs  up  and  its  head  down. 
If  you  were  to  ask  it  why,  it  would  say  it  doesn't  know 
how  to  glide  differently.  That's  its  nature.  What's  to 
be  done?" 

*  *  A  man  can  restrain  himself,  *  *  she  cried,  flaring  up  and 
casting  indignant  glances  at  him.  **A  man  can  look  up 
to  heights,  to  an  ideal.  He  can  listen  to  the  advice  of  a 
friend  who  means  well  by  him — that's  what  he  can  do." 

**And  what  does  his  friend  advise?"  he  asked  flatter- 
ingly, while  swinging  himself  nearer. 

But  this  time  she  did  not  answer.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  cried,  cried  so  that  her  body  shook 
with  sobs. 

"For  God's  sake,  sit  still,**  he  exclaimed,  stretching  his 
arms  about  her  in  a  wide  circle,  for  she  was  in  danger  of 
losing  her  balance  on  the  slim,  swaying  trunk  of  the  moun- 
tain-ash. **Do  sit  still,  Lilly,  else  you'll  fall  into  the 
water.** 

She  shuddered.  She  heard  nothing  of  what  he  said  ex- 
cept that  sweet,  secret,  criminal  "Lilly,"  for  which  she 
had  been  longing  the  whole  week. 


The  Song  of  Songs  227 

Then  he  promised  her  everything  she  wanted  of  him. 
He  wouldn  't  run  after  any  more  servant  girls,  he  wouldn  't 
spend  nights  boozing  with  the  inspector  and  the  book- 
keeper, he  wouldn't — oh,  what  wouldn't  he  do,  if  only  she 
stopped  crying. 

**Your  word  of  honour  T'  she  said,  raising  her  wet,  red- 
dened eyes. 

**My  word  of  honour,"  he  replied  without  an  instant's 
hesitation. 

She  smiled  at  him,  happy  and  grateful. 

**You  won't  regret  it,"  she  said.  **I'll  be  close  at 
hand,  I'll  be  your  friend,  I  will  do  whatever  I  can." 

**And  whatever  the  two  High  Mightinesses  permit,"  he 
added. 

This  time  the  epithet  **High  Mightinesses"  did  not  an- 
noy her.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said:  **0h, 
they — yes,  of  course." 

Then  they  both  laughed  till  they  came  near  falling  into 
the  ditch  after  all. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Delightful  times  followed.  A  game  of  hide-and-seek 
with  herself,  a  long-drawn  draught  from  an  nnfailing 
fount  of  expectancy,  anticipation,  delicious  aftertaste  and 
joyous  recollections.  Each  day  brought  new  pleasures  and 
untold  wealth. 

Sometimes  when  Lilly  threw  open  the  shutters  in  the 
morning  and  the  fresh  red  September  air  flowed  in  over 
her  she  felt  as  if  God  had  spread  a  mantle  of  sunny  gold 
over  the  heavens  to  wrap  both  of  them  in,  so  snug  and  close 
that  the  whole  world  disappeared,  leaving  no  one  but 
themselves  behind,  pressed  against  each  other  in  laughter 
and  drunk  with  all  that  light. 

She  felt  she  was  growing  more  beautiful  from  day  to 
day  and  emanated  a  sort  of  radiance  which  caused  all  who 
met  her  to  look  up  with  a  smile  of  astonishment  and  satis- 
faction, mingled,  however,  with  a  touch  of  melancholy, 
such  as  always  comes  over  us  when  we  see  a  human  being 
or  a  flower  developing  too  happily,  too  proudly  for  its 
glory  to  endure. 

The  two  High  Mightinesses  did  not  keep  their  eyes 
closed,  either. 

The  colonel  found  no  formula  for  such  symptoms  in  his 
store  of  experiences.  Had  Lilly  gone  about  downcast, 
staring  dreamily  into  space,  had  she  crept  about  him  tim- 
idly, had  she  wavered  between  ardour  and  estrangement, 
his  suspicions  would  have  grown  livety.  He  would  have  be- 
gun to  sound  and  spy  on  her.    But  it  was  not  in  his 

228 


The  Song  of  Songs  229 

power  to  discern  aught  else  than  increased  spiritual  well- 
being  in  her  pliable,  blissful  tenderness. 

So  he  smirked  complacently  at  the  harmless  gaiety  his 
young  wife  radiated,  and  with  paternal  calm  accepted  the 
lavish  caresses,  which  served  as  an  outlet  for  her  over- 
wrought ecstasy. 

Anna  von  Schwertfeger  shared  no  less  benevolently  in 
Lilly's  happiness.  She  seemed  to  harbour  as  little  suspi- 
cion as  the  colonel  that  a  third  person  was  playing  a  part 
in  her  life.  Otherwise  she  would  scarcely  have  viewed  the 
growing  frequency  with  which  the  two  young  people  met 
with  such  unbegrudgipg  kindliness. 

Often  after  supper  she  drew  Lilly  into  the  room  on  the 
ground  floor,  where  she  dwelt  amid  her  account  books.  A 
genuine  old  maid's  home,  with  canary  birds,  flower  pots, 
faded  family  photographs,,  and  all  sorts  of  gilt  and  china 
knickknacks,  remnants  of  past  glory  such  as  are  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation  in  families  of  decayed 
gentlefolk. 

At  other  times  she  came  gliding  into  Lilly's  bedroom 
at  an  incredibly  late  hour,  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed,  and  did  not  stir  until  she  heard  the  sound  of  the 
colonel's  carriage  coming  from  the  station. 

The  two  women  would  plunge  into  profound  conversa- 
tions concerning  life  and  death,  solitary  old  age  and  over- 
flowing youth,  the  measure  God  has  set  for  each  mortal,  and 
the  misfortune  of  trying  to  exceed  that  measure.  Anna 
von  Schwertfeger  no  longer  pried  or  warned,  yet  her  fash- 
ion of  hopping  from  subject  to  subject,  of  heedlessly  ex- 
pressing an  opinion  the  very  reverse  of  one  she  had  ut- 
tered a  moment  before,  seemed  sufficient  reason  for  sup- 
posing that  her  mind  was  occupied  with  very,  very  differ- 
ent things. 


230  The  Song  of  Songs 

Often  while  her  speech  flowed  on  monotonously  Lilly- 
would  be  astonished  to  look  up  and  find  her  eyes  resting 
on  her  intently,  almost  apprehensively.  Then  again  Lilly 
would  feel  herself  stroked  and  kissed  with  such  pitying 
inwardliness  that  she  herself  was  touched,  and  later,  when 
left  alone,  she  began  to  feel  afraid  of  the  dark,  as  if  a 
menacing  fate  were  crouching  at  the  bottom  of  her  bed 
ready  to  pounce  on.  her  and  choke  her. 

But  from  where  was  misfortune  to  drop  on  her? 
Wasn't  she  more  securely  stowed  away  than  ever  before  in 
her  life?  Whom  did  she  deceive?  Wherein  did  she  sin? 
Even  if  the  few  little  secrets  binding  her  to  Walter  should 
be  discovered,  how  would  she  be  punished?  She  would 
simply  get  a  fine  sermon  like  a  naughty  child,  nothing 
worse. 

Thus  she  comforted  herself  before  the  aftertaste  of  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger's  late  visits  was  dispelled  by  new  dreams 
of  happiness. 

September  neared  its  end. 

Lilly  went  horseback  riding  with  Von  Prell  almost  every 
day,  or  she  met  him  at  twilight,  as  if  by  chance,  in  deserted 
parts  of  the  park.  They  would  spy  each  other  strolling 
about  some  one  of  the  various  places  they  had  fixed  upon 
once  for  all.  Then  there  was  the  pea-shooter  to  fall  back 
upon  in  case  different  arrangements  had  to  be  made. 

Von  Prell  had  brought  the  convenient  instrument  from 
the  city,  and  it  reposed  innocently  in  a  corner  of  Lilly's 
balcony,  to  all  appearances  nothing  more  than  a  superflu- 
ous curtain-rod.  It  enabled  her  to  blow  whatever  mes- 
sage she  wanted  through  the  foliage  on  the  balcony  di- 
rectly into  his  open  window. 

Sometimes  it  was  only  *  *  Good  morning,  comrade,  * '  some- 
times the  hour  of  meeting,  or  sometimes  a  harmless  jest, 
the  outgrowth  of  a  moment's  exuberance. 


The  Song  of  Songs  231 

On  the  evenings  the  colonel  remained  at  home  Von  Prell 
was  usually  invited  to  supper.  Though  he  then  assumed 
his  according-to-rules-and-regulations  stiffness,  the  oppor- 
tunity for  a  little  byplay  was  now  always  afforded. 

Neither  Lilly  nor  Von  Prell  moved  a  muscle  and  the  two 
High  Mightinesses  sat  there  unsuspecting. 

But  Lilly  had  a  rival  whom  she  feared  and  detested, 
because  that  rival  had  the  power  to  draw  her  * '  comrade 's ' ' 
attention  from  her  for  hours  at  a  time.  The  mere 
mention  of  the  rivaFs  name  sufficed  to  reduce  Lilly  to 
the  position  of  nothing  but  a  lay  figure.  The  rival  was — 
the  regiment. 

The  time  of  the  autumn  manoeuvres  had  come,  and  both 
gentlemen  read  the  papers  with  feverish  interest  to  see 
what  part  was  being  taken  by  their  former  regiment. 

One  evening  they  sent  off  a  picture  postal  with  congrat- 
ulations to  the  regiment.  Two  days  later  the  reply  came, 
also  on  a  postal,  all  scribbled  over  with  names  which  it  re- 
quired a  vast  effort  to  decipher. 

Three  remained  illegible,  or,  rather,  inexplicable,  until 
all  of  a  sudden  Walter  lit  upon  the  solution :  Von  Holten, 
Dehnicke,  Von  Berg,  summer  lieutenants,  who  had  been 
called  into  service  for  the  manoeuvres  and  had  signed  thdr 
names  along  with  the  other  officers. 

AH  but  one  of  the  names  fell  upon  Lilly's  ear  unheeded. 
'* Dehnicke"  struck  her  as  a  little  odd,  because  its  bourgeois 
simplicity  did  not  seem  to  chime  in  well  with  the  ringing 
charm  of  the  old  patrician  names. 

The  greeting  from  out  of  his  past  had  no  benign  influ- 
ence on  the  colonel's  mood.  He  grew  taciturn,  then  surly; 
and  Lilly  caught  a  sidelong  glance  of  his  fixed  on  her, 
which  caused  her  to  start  in  terror,  it  was  so  wildly, 
fiercely  reproachful. 

Thereafter  his  visits  to  the  neighbouring  garrison  town 


232.  The  Song  of  Songs 

grew  more  frequent,  and  despite  his  painful  gout  he  never 
refused  an  invitation  to  join  a  hunt. 

It  was  the  first  Sunday  in  October. 

The  colonel  had  left  at  dawn  to  go  to  a  neighbour  with 
the  intention  of  not  returning  until  late  at  night. 

A  soft  grey  mist  shot  with  violet  suggestions  of  the  sun 
lay  over  the  ground  when  Lilly,  bored  and  writhing  in- 
ternally, came  out  of  church  on  Miss  von  Schwertf eger 's 
arm. 

The  sunflowers  in  the  tenants'  gardens  were  already 
sinking  their  singed  heads  and  the  asters  showed  signs 
of  having  suffered  from  the  murderous  blows  of  Jack 
Frost. 

But  the  air  was  as  sweet  and  spicy  as  in  spring,  and 
from  the  fields  came  a  singing  as  of  meadow  larks. 

''Such  a  day,  such  a  day!"  thought  Lilly,  and  stretched 
herself  in  a  vague  yearning  for  secret  conversation  and 
glad  pranks. 

She  must  have  thought  a  little  too  loud,  for  Miss  von 
Schwertf  eger  asked: 

** What's  the  matter  with  to-day?" 

*'I  don't  know,"  replied  Lilly,  blushing.  **I  feel  as  tf 
it  were  some  festival." 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  looked  at  her  askance  and  saia, 
emphasising  each  word: 

*'I  should  like  to  make  a  festival  of  it  for  myself  and 
visit  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  city.  But  the  colonel  is  away 
and  I  don't  know — " 

Lilly  started  so  violently  that  she  lost  her  breath  for  an 
instant.  But  she  mastered  herself  cleverly  and  began  to 
persuade  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  first  speaking  coolly,  then 
more  warmly  and  urgently.  She  needed  a  little  outing; 
she  hadn  't  left  the  place  all  summer ;  she  lived  like  a  pris- 


The  Song  of  Songs  233 

oner,  and  ought  to  grant  herself  at  least  one  hour  of  free- 
dom. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  nodded  meditatively,  and  that 
glassy  stare  came  into  her  eyes  which  always  discomfited 
Lilly. 

At  the  midday  meal,  which  the  two  took  in  each  other's 
company,  she  was  still  undecided ;  but  as  soon  as  they  rose 
from  table  she  ordered  the  carriage  to  be  brought  around 
and  drove  off  without  saying  good-by. 

Lilly,  who  watched  her  departure,  ran  for  the  pea- 
shooter. The  foliage  of  the  creepers  still  hedged  in  her 
little  domain  so  perfectly  that  Von  Prell  could  not  see  her. 
But  she  could  see  him  as  he  sat  at  the  open  window  brood- 
ing over  a  book  with  a  deep  fold  between  his  brows. 

**My  good  influence,*'  thought  Lilly  triumphantly,  and 
it  almost  made  her  feel  sorry  to  tear  him  away  from  so 
salutary  an  occupation. 

The  inspector  and  the  bookkeeper  were  walking  up  and 
down  near  the  lodge  smoking  their  Sunday  afternoon  cig- 
arettes. 

So  more  than  ordinary  caution  was  necessary. 

The  pellet  containing  her  missive  hit  Von  Prell's  fore- 
head, rebounded,  and  fell  on  the  grass  outside  the  window. 

Von  Prell  had  himself  so  well  in  hand  that  he  even  re- 
frained from  looking  up  to  show  he  understood.  After 
a  while,  however,  he  let  the  book  fall  out  of  the  window 
as  if  by  accident,  and  then  got  up  to  fetch  it  with  an  in- 
different air. 

Half  an  hour  later  tliey  met  behind  the  carp  pond. 

He  was  wearing  a  new  black  and  white  checked  fall 
suit,  similar  to  the  one  the  fateful  stranger  in  the  railroad 
train  had  worn. 

**You're  entirely  too  elegant,"  Lilly  joked.  *'I'd  rather 
not  be  in  your  company  to-day." 


234  The  Song  of  Songs 

'*That  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame,"  he  observed.  **I 
had  these  trappings  constructed  extra  for  to-day." 

**Why  for  to-day  T' 

** Because  to-day's  our  festival." 

*  *  How  did  that  occur  to  you  ? ' '  she  faltered,  startled  that 
their  thoughts  had  taken  the  same  course. 

**0h,  a  person  gets  notions,"  he  replied,  and  smiled  sig- 
nificantly. 

Under  the  same  impulse  they  took  the  path  leading  to 
the  beech  grove  which  they  had  wandered  through  an  the 
first  evening  of  their  renewed  friendship. 

*' How's  Tommy?"  Lilly  asked,  recollecting  the  third 
party  to  the  alliance. 

*'He  bit  away  the  flooring  in  my  room  and  dug  a 
hole  for  himself,  where  he  snarls  like  an  eagle-owl.  I 
shouldn  't  advise  you  to  stick  your  wedding-ring  finger  into 
his  hole.  You  might  suddenly  lose  your  ring  and  your 
finger,  too." 

**Why  have  you  let  him  get  so  wild?"  she  asked  re- 
proachfully. 

"Why  have  I  let  myself  get  so  wild?"  he  retorted. 

*'Well,  you're  growing  tame  again,"  replied  Lilly,  ca- 
ressing him  with  her  eyes.  His  recent  tameness  was  all 
her  doing. 

**Do  you  think  so?"  he  asked,  and  drew  his  brows  to- 
gether masterfully,  as  in  his  lieutenant  days. 

** Haven't  I  your  word  of  honour?"  she  exulted. 

'*Pshaw!" 

Lilly  basked  in  the  superbness  of  her  mission  of  salva- 
tion. 

**No  matter  how  much  you  disdain  my  influence,"  she 
replied,  **  everybody  sees  that  a  change  has  taken  place 
in  you.  Mr.  Leiehtweg  says  you're  always  the  first  to 
begin  work  now.    You've  borrowed  that  great  book  on 


The  Song  of  Songs  235 

agriculture  from  the  colonel — it  impressed  him  tre- 
mendously— and  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  said  a  little  while 
ago  you  always  look  so  appetizing  now.  Yes,  Mr.  von 
Prell,  I  take  the  credit  for  all  this,  and  if  things  continue 
the  same  way  we  shall  remain  good  friends. ' ' 

** Apropos  of  appetizing,'*  he  said,  **your  neck  begin- 
ning back  of  your  ears  is  all  covered  with  tiny,  silky  hairs. 
Do  you  know  from  what  that  comes  T' 

**0h,  nonsense,"  Lilly  exclaimed,  blushing.  **Why? 
Do  you  knowT' 

**A  wise  man  has  theories.  For  instance,  observe  this 
plot  of  grass.''  He  pointed  to  a  clearing  below  them, 
through  which  a  rill  trickled,  and  which  was  closely  grown 
with  tender,  juicy  grass  of  a  vivid  green.  **From  the 
way  it  looks  you'd  suppose  it  was  still  spring.  Until  late 
in  the  summer  that  plot  stood  under  water,  and  the  spots 
that  least  often  or  never  get  dry  grow  the  finest  down — 
that's  nature." 

Lilly  was  on  the  point  of  taking  his  botany  lesson  in 
earnest  when  she  chanced  to  notice  the  wicked  grimace  he 
was  making.  Then  she  understood  the  shameless  allusion 
and  had  to  laugh  over  it  helplessly. 

"Listen,  baronissima,  how  about  playing  tag?  We  owe 
it  to  the  circulation  of  your  excellency's  blood." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when  with  a 
blithe  shout  she  darted  off  down  the  slope,  the  bottom  of 
which  was  lost  in  the  purple  darkness  of  autumn.  But 
at  the  end  of  a  short  stretch  she  tripped  over  the  Scotch 
plaid  she  had  taken  along  and  had  refused  to  let  Von  Prell 
carry.  She  fell  full  length  and  he  came  just  in  time  to 
help  her  to  her  feet. 

This  having  spoiled  Lilly's  taste  for  tag  they  mounted 
the  hill  like  well-behaved  children. 

Here  their  eyes  could  travel  over  a  rippling  lake  of 


236  The  Song  of  Songs 

leaves  far,  far  away.  The  beeches  glowed  a  deep  red,  the 
maples  danced  in  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  the  birches 
quivered  with  bright  flames,  the  elm  flaunted  its  flakes  of 
gold,  while  the  oak  alone  obstinately  retained  its  green  garb 
of  summer. 

Lilly  stared  into  the  violet-veiled  distance. 

The  sun  hid  itself  behind  gold-rimmed  clouds,  from 
which  fiery  tracks  descended  to  earth.  A  narrow  band  of 
scarlet  edged  the  horizon. 

**  Shall  we  sit  down  heref  asked  Von  Prell. 

**No,  not  here,"  said  Lilly,  seized  with  a  vague  dread. 
**I'll  begin  to  cry  here.'* 

She  ran  ahead  of  him,  back  into  the  woods,  and  came 
again  upon  the  path  leading  along  the  rill. 

Here  the  darkness  of  evening  prevailed,  but  the  sun- 
charm  in  which  they  had  been  enveloped  worked  its  magic 
here,  too,  and  filled  her  heart  with  a  happy  devoutness. 

Oh,  how  happy  she  was !     How  happy  she  was ! 

No  fear  and  no  danger  so  far  as  her  thoughts  could 
reach;  and  no  danger  from  her  own  heart,  for  the  man 
walking  by  her  side  was  her  friend  and  playmate,  noth- 
ing more.  He  might  not  and  could  not  be  anything  else. 
No  secret  wish,  no  distorted  desire  came  from  him  or  went 
to  meet  him. 

Everything  uniting  him  to  her  was  clear  and  transpar- 
ent as  sunlight.  Even  if  the  others  must  not  have  a  sus- 
picion of  their  intercourse,  there  was  no  sin  in  it — only 
salvation  for  him  and  laughter  for  her  and  youth  for  both. 

She  felt  a  warm-hearted  impulse  to  take  his  hand,  but 
fearing  to  be  misunderstood  she  checked  herself. 

Thus  they  walked  at  each  other's  side  to  the  spot  where 
the  rill  was  caught  up  in  a  rotting  wooden  conduit,  from 
which  it  spouted  with  a  soft  singsong. 

Withered  ferns  covered  the  light  green  moss  with  their 


The  Song  of  Songs  237 

ragged  red  fronds  and  tired  leaves  came  fluttering  down 
out  of  the  beech  trees. 

**Let  us  rest  here,"  suggested  Lilly. 

** But  it's  damp." 

''We'll  spread  the  plaid,"  she  said  eagerly,  taking  the 
blanket  from  him — he  had  managed  to  snatch  it  away 
from  her — and  threw  it  over  the  fern  stalks,  which  cracked 
under  the  weight. 

She  sat  down  on  the  right  side  of  the  plaid  and  invited 
him  to  make  use  of  the  left  side,  to  keep  his  fine  new  suit 
clean. 

"Do  you  hear  the  vesper  bells?"  he  asked.  "We  ought 
to  be  eating  supper  now." 

"We  poor  church  mice,  we  have  nothing,"  she  laughed. 

"Who  told  you  so?"  he  asked,  triumphantly  producing 
a  small  paper  package  from  his  pocket,  which  contained  a 
mashed,  crumbly  piece  of  cake.  They  laid  it  between 
them  and  ate  the  morsels  from  their  hollowed  hands, 
laughing  all  the  while.  The  cake  tasted  like  sweet  wine, 
and  Lilly  felicitously  hit  upon  its  correct  name,  punch- 
tart,  of  which  she  was  especially  fond. 

"The  English  call  it  tipsy-cake,"  he  explained.  "It 
quite  befuddles  one." 

"That  amount  of  intoxication  I'll  risk,"  she  laughed, 
and  threw  herself  on  her  back,  folding  her  hands  behind 
her  head. 

She  lay  there  a  time  without  moving  and  looked  up  to 
the  sky,  of  which  jagged  oval  bits  shimmered  through  the 
foliage.  Rosy  flakes  swam  in  the  opalescent  ether,  and 
way  beyond  appeared  the  vault  of  another  heaven,  which 
in  some  places  burst  through  the  nearer  sky  like  a  deep 
blue  foreboding. 

Lilly  stretched  her  arms  upward  yearningly. 

"Do  you  want  to  catch  the  larks?"  he  asked. 


238  The  Song  of  Songs 

No,  not  that,  but  she  would  like  to  have  one  of  the 
falling  leaves. 

They  kept  dropping,  dropping  from  the  boughs  like 
birds  with  broken  wings,  and  fluttered  over  the  ground  in 
little  spirals,  as  if  undecided  where  to  rest. 

'*We'll  see  to  which  of  us  the  first  one  comes,*'  he  said, 
and  also  stretched  himself  on  his  back. 

*  *  The  one  to  whom  a  leaf  comes  first  will  be  blessed  with 
a  great  piece  of  good  fortune,"  she  added. 

They  lay  still  and  waited. 

At  last  one  floated  toward  him  and  prepared  to  settle 
on  his  nose. 

But  he  would  not  permit  this — ^hers  must  be  that  great 
piece  of  good  fortune — and  he  blew  the  leaf  back  to  her. 

She  in  turn  was  too  proud  to  accept  so  munificent  a  gift 
and  blew  it  back  to  him. 

Thus  laughing  and  tossing  themselves  about,  they  kept 
the  leaf  whirling  between  them,  and  suddenly  in  the  heat 
of  the  struggle  their  lips  touched — ^touched  and  would  not 
separate. 

The  next  instant  they  held  each  other  in  close  embrace, 
and  the  instant  after  she  was  his. 

The  rill  purled,  the  leaves  fell  as  before.  But  a  fiery 
mist  lay  upon  the  earth,  and  all  over  small  suns  winked 
rainbow  coloured  eyes. 

Why  had  it  happened? 

She  fell  back  without  thinking  and  noticed  that  the 
heavens  above  were  also  clothed  in  fire. 

Her  comrade  sat  beside  her  with  his  back  curved  like 
a  berated  schoolboy  and  rubbed  his  nails  against  one  an- 
other. 

**0h,  let's  go  home,"  said  Lilly,  downheartedly. 


The  Song  of  Songs  239 

"As  my  lady  commands/'  he  replied,  grotesquely  re- 
spectful again. 

She  laughed  a  weary,  mirthless  laugh. 

Apparently  he  was  concerned  with  getting  rid  of  what 
had  happened  as  speedily  as  possible. 

**0h,  now  it's  all  the  same,"  she  sighed;  **now  we  can 
quite  calmly  call  each  other  by  our  first  names.'' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

First  came  dread,  the  same  senseless  dread  that  had 
dominated  Lilly's  being  before  her  engagement.  It  stif- 
fened her  limbs,  bound  her  arms  to  her  body,  crippled  her 
knees,  beat  against  the  walls  of  the  veins  in  her-  neck  and 
created  a  black  void  in  her  brain. 

But  after  she  had  gone  through  the  first  meeting  with 
Von  Prell  and  nothing  fateful  occurred,  her  fear  died 
down  and  what  remained  was  a  searching  attentiveness,  a 
readiness  to  jump  aside  at  the  least  sign  of  danger,  a  tense 
anticipation  of  ticklish  questions  to  be  answered  properly 
and  pitfalls  to  be  avoided  with  a  crafty  assumption  of 
innocence. 

The  colonel  noticed  nothing — ^he,  the  most  suspicious  of 
married  men,  with  the  keenest  scent,  who  harboured  the 
least  illusions  concerning  the  opposite  sex,  he  noticed 
nothing.  He  even  believed  the  headache  myth  and  lav- 
ished mocking  yet  tender  pity  upon  her,  while  he  sat  at 
her  bedside  laughing  and  helping  her  change  the  com- 
presses that  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  had  solicitously  pre- 
pared. 

It  was  more  difficult  for  Lilly  to  endure  the  woman's 
caresses.  Behind  them  lurked  a  squinting  pair  of  eyes, 
shy,  heedful,  and  endeavouring  to  look  harmless,  while,  in 
spite  of  themselves,  revealing  a  greedy  desire  to  know. 

The  anxiety  that  so  far  as  the  colonel  was  concerned 
gradually  lulled  itself  to  sleep,  grew  sharper  with  regard 
to  the  self-sacrificing  friend,  who  at  any  moment  might 
become  her  enemy  and  betrayer. 

240 


The  Song  of  Songs  241 

Lilly  did  not  dare  to  cry  until  night  time,  when  she 
felt  sure  of  being  alone.  She  would  jump  out  of  bed  to 
wash  her  eyes,  go  back  to  bed  again  and  cry  until  sleep 
took  her  in  its  soothing  arms. 

It  was  not  shame,  nor  regret,  nor  longing  love.  It  was 
a  feeling  of  infinite  solitariness,  it  was  a  straying  about  in 
perplexity. 

**What  will  happen  now?" 

For  something  must  surely  happen — confession,  convent, 
flight  together,  suicide  together,  or  one  of  all  those  events 
described  in  Mrs.  Asmussen's  books  as  following  upon  so 
atrocious  a  deed. 

The  week  passed. 

Lilly  had  arisen  from  her  sick  bed  several  days  before, 
but  she  had  not  seen  Von  Prell.  She  could  discover  no 
signs  of  him,  even  when  she  locked  all  the  entrances  to  h«r 
room  and  rushed  to  the  window  for  a  glimpse  of  him. 

All  the  while  the  colonel  kept  recommending  horseback 
riding.  There  was  Yon  Prell  to  take  her  and  the  exercise 
would  do  her  good. 

At  last,  Saturday  at  dusk,  she  felt  she  had  to  yield — they 
would  meet  at  dinner  the  next  day  at  any  rate. 

The  horses  were  pawing  before  the  door. 

The  moment  for  the  meeting  before  which  she  had  re- 
coiled had  arrived  with  its  threat  of  fresh  dangers. 

When  she  saw  her  friend  ascend  the  terrace  steps  in  his 
high,  shiny  riding  boots,  looking  pale  and  thin,  and  mov- 
ing as  if  by  springs  to  display  his  counterfeit  respect, 
something  within  her  suddenly  turned  numb. 

**Why,  that  young  man  there  is  an  utter  stranger,**  she 
felt.  **He  doesn't  concern  you  in  the  least — you  are  look- 
ing upon  him  for  the  first  time  in  your  life.** 

They  rode  out  of  the  gate. 

The   colonel   had   gone   to  the   stables,   but   Miss  von 


242  The  Song  of  Songs 

Schwertfeger  stood  on  the  terrace  with  her  hands  clasped 
and  looked  after  them. 

The  road,  muddy  with  recent  rains,  plashed  under  the 
horses'  hoofs  and  a  cold  evening  wind  crinkled  the  winter 
wheat.  A  yellow  sheen  hiding  the  poverty-stricken  sun 
glimmered  behind  the  ragged  birch  boughs.  Everything 
looked  sad  and  weary.  It  even  seemed  a  vain  task  to  have 
sowed  the  winter  wheat. 

They  trotted  on  side  by  side  in  silence — a  long,  long 
series  of  anxious  moments. 

"He  must  speak  some  time,"  thought  Lilly,  biting  her 
tongue  till  it  bled. 

He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  undeviatingly  upon  the  road 
ahead,  making  only  slight  movements  of  his  right  hand 
from  time  to  time  to  adjust  his  reins. 

"He'll  call  me  'my  lady'  again,"  she  thought,  and  felt 
ashamed  in  advance  for  both  of  them. 

Finally  she  took  heart  and  spoke  to  him. 

**Do  walk  your  horse,"  she  said,  almost  crying. 

"Of  course,  comrade,"  he  replied,  and  reined  in  his 
chestnut. 

"Comrade!  Comrade!"  she  burst  out,  and  passionately 
searched  his  eyes  with  hers. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  always  when  he  feared  a 
scolding,  and  said  nothing. 

"Say  something,  won't  you?"  she  screamed,  quite  be- 
side herself. 

"What  should  I  say?"  he  queried,  making  a  little  ges- 
ture, as  if  to  scratch  his  head.  "It's  a  nasty  business. 
We  know  it."  And  muttering  to  himself,  he  repeated, 
"Nasty  business,  nasty  business!" 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me?"  she  cried. 

"My  dear  friend,"  he  replied,  "I  am  small,  my  heart  is 


The  Song  of  Songs  243 

small.  It's  not  a  suitable  spot  for  harbouring  great  an- 
guish of  the  soul.'* 

"Pshaw,  who's  speaking  of  anguish  of  the  soul?  But 
what 's  to  become  of  us,  that 's  what  I  should  like  to  know. ' ' 

*'As  soon  as  I  come  into  possession  of  an  unencumbered 
manorial  estate,"  he  replied  with  a  gesture  of  invitation, 
*'a  castle,  stables,  vehicles  and  other  animate  and  inani- 
mate things  thereunto  appertaining,  I  shall  take  the  liberty 
of  applying  to  your  husband  for  your  hand." 

This  completely  robbed  Lilly  of  her  self-control. 

*'If  you  keep  on  making  such  jokes,"  she  screamed, 
bursting  into  tears,  *'I'll  ride  to  death,  now,  before  your 
very  eyes." 

**A  difficult  thing  to  do  with  that  well-behaved  nag  of 
yours. ' ' 

Lilly  was  at  her  wits'  end  and  simply  let  the  tears 
course  down  her  cheeks  in  silence. 

At  last  he  changed  his  tone. 

**Well,  well,  child,"  he  said,  **be  sensible  for  a  change. 
All  I  want  to  do  is  tickle  the  superfluous  tragedy  out  of 
your  soul.  And  as  soon  as  you  make  a  glad  face  again 
I'll  try  to  give  the  matter  most  serious  consideration." 

Lilly  wiped  her  tears  away  with  the  flap  of  her  riding 
gauntlet  and  smiled  at  him  obediently. 

**Fine,"  he  praised  her.  **  'Twas  not  idle  in  the  poet 
to  write  '0  weine  selten,  weine  schwer.  Wer  Trdnen  hat, 
hat  auch  Malheur.'  I '11  tell  you  something.  We  two  pretty 
orphans  were  exactly  meant  for  each  other  and  we've  been 
brought  together  here  in  this  enchanted  castle.  But  we 
should  have  had  to  meet,  no  matter  where,  even  if  we  hadn't 
been  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one  long  before.  To  be*  ac- 
curate, the  colonel  married  us  right  at  the  beginning,  and 
the  only  shame  is  that  your  marriage  contract  with  him 


244  The  Song  of  Songs 

wasn't  drawn  up  accordingly.  But  that's  not  to  be  al- 
tered, and  we  shall  have  to  get  around  the  matter  in  secret 
ways.  See  here,  child,  we  both  are  headed  in  the  same  di- 
rection on  the  sea  of  life.  "We  have  the  same  to  win  and 
the  same  to  lose.  So  cheer  up!  Go  it!  We're  ragtag 
and  bobtail  both  of  us,  at  any  rate. ' ' 

**I'm  not  ragtag  and  bobtail!"  cried  Lilly,  flaring  up. 
*'I  have  pride  and  a  sense  of  honour,  and  even  if  I  have 
sinned  a  thousandfold,  I  know  how  to  die  for  my  sins." 

**It's  not  so  easy  to  die.  Usually  the  opportunity  is 
lacking,  and  when  the  opportunity  once  presents  itself 
we  show  it  a  clean  pair  of  heels." 

Lilly  felt  a  hot  desire  to  protect  him  against  the  self- 
degradation  in  which  he  indulged. 

*^You  don't  believe  what  you  say,"  she  cried.  '^You 
are  the  boldest,  the  most  daring  of  men.  I  know  you  are. 
"Without  a  moment's  hesitation  you  would  face  death  for 
the  sake  of  your  honour.  If  you  would  only  summon  all 
your  strength  the  whole  world  would  lie  at  your  feet.  I 
will  always  keep  reminding  you  of  that.  I  will  work  over 
you  until  you  get  back  belief  in  yourself,  until  you  feel  you 
are  on  the  upward  road.  I  will  share  all  your  hardships, 
all  your  temptations,  and  I  will  protect  you  from  all  evil. 
For  what  should  I  be  here  if  not  for  you?" 

She  felt  she  was  so  completely  his  that  she  could  have 
thrown  herself  at  his  horse 's  hoofs ;  and  when  she  recalled 
the  first  moments  of  their  meeting  that  day  she  could 
scarcely  realise  why  he  had  seemed  so  repulsive  and  alien. 

*  *  You  're  a  touching  creature, ' '  he  replied.  *  *  It 's  really 
lucky  the  creepers  on  your  balcony  are  so  thoroughly  knit 
together." 

She  started. 

**What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  she  faltered,  oppressed 
by  a  foreboding  of  ill. 


I 


The  Song  of  Songs  245 


"And  lucky  the  ladder  was  left  there.  It  can  be  leaned 
against  the  balcony  and  the  vines  can  break  all  they  want 
to,  even  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  wouldn't  notice  anything 
amiss.    Welir' 

He  blinked  his  silvery  lids  at  her  enticingly. 

She  did  not  know  where  to  turn  to  hide  her  face  from 
his  gaze,  she  felt  so  ashamed. 

**I'll  never  belong  to  you  again,"  she  cried.  *'I  swear 
I  won 't  by  all  the  saints !  I  should  be  a  thing  of  loathing 
to  myself.  As  for  you,  I  should  utterly  despise  you. 
Pah!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

**Pity  to  lose  the  opportunity,"  he  observed,  and  turned 
the  horses'  heads. 

He  appeared  at  dinner  the  next  day,  virtuous  in  his 
frock-coat  and  black  necktie.  He  strutted  and  scraped 
and  bowed,  pursed  his  lips  in  extravagant  respect,  and 
scarcely  dared  to  take  the  demitasse  from  her  hand. 

But  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 's  eyes  passed  between  the 
two,  watching  and  questioning. 

Late  that  Sunday  night  the  following  occurred: 

The  colonel  had  gone  off  to  town.  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
had  retired  to  her  room,  and  Lilly  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  in  her  nightgown  brushing  her  hair. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  gentle  tapping  at  the  window,  as 
if  the  autumn  wind  were  blowing  a  twig  against  the  closed 
shutter.  But  the  action  of  the  wind  is  irregular,  and  this 
sound  kept  time — now  a  little  louder,  now  a  little  softer — 
and  recurred  at  even  intervals. 

It  frightened  her,  and  she  wanted  to  run  down  to  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger ;  but  she  bethought  herself  in  time.  She 
hastily  put  on  her  dressing  gown,  cautiously  raised  the 
window,  and  opened  the  shutters  the  least  bit. 


246  The  Song  of  Songs 

At  first  she  saw  nothing. 

There  were  no  stars  in  the  heavens  and  the  whole  of  the 
lodge  seemed  buried  in  darkness.  Then  she  thought  she 
saw  a  staff  waving  up  and  down  close  to  the  shutter. 

She  opened  the  shutter  an  inch  wider  and  recognised — 
the  pea-shooter. 

Now  she  knew  what  was  up. 

She  jumped  back  and  drew  the  bolt.  Then  threw  her- 
self back  in  bed,  where  she  lay  holding  her  fingers  in  her 
ears.  But  when  she  withdrew  them  she  again  heard  that 
short,  regular  tapping,  which  now  rose  almost  to  a  knock- 
ing. 

The  nightwatch,  who  made  the  rounds  of  the  court  and 
park  once  an  hour,  need  only  find  the  ladder  leaning 
against  the  balcony  and  all  was  lost. 

Her  fright  deprived  her  of  her  senses. 

Trembling  in  every  limb,  she  ran  into  her  dressing  room, 
where  there  was  no  light,  and  opened  the  balcony  door 
about  half  an  inch.  Through  the  crack  she  whispered  into 
the  darkness: 

**Go  away,  and  never  try  such  a  thing  again.*' 

Then  she  listened  with  her  ear  to  the  opening. 

Nothing  to  be  seen  or  heard. 

But  when  she  wanted  to  close  the  door  it  would  not  go 
shut.  She  groped  along  the  crack  in  search  of  the  obsta- 
cle, and  came  upon  a  round,  hollow,  wooden  something, 
which  an  invisible  hand  had  shoved  there. 

The  wretched  pea-shooter ! 

She  moaned  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
the  next  moment  was  hanging  in  his  arms  in  a  half 
swoon. 

After  that  evening  he  had  her  completely  in  his  power — 
defenceless,  without  a  will  of  her  own,  at  the  mercy  of  his 
wishes  and  whims. 


The  Song  of  Songs  247 

It  was  not  happiness.  She  experienced  scarcely  a  single 
transport  of  feeling.  That  came  later,  when  she  had  con- 
quered her  horror  of  the  monstrous  deed,  and  her  fear  of 
discovery  had  weakened.  Nothing  occurred  to  disturb 
them,  and  Lilly  expanded  in  a  sense  of  defiant  security. 

Then  it  was  a  blissful  sailing  over  awful  abysms,  a  de- 
lirium of  the  senses,  a  nebulous  ecstasy,  a  delightful  writh- 
ing under  lacerating  blows,  an  ebb  and  flow  of  magnani- 
mous scorn  of  self  and  blasphemous  prayers. 

Laughter  came  again.  Not  the  old  simple  laughter 
that  had  dominated  the  play  of  her  spirit  until  withiA 
a  short  time  before.  No,  this  laughter  was  sardonic 
exultation,  the  exultation  of  the  hounded  thief,  who  car- 
ries his  booty  off  to  security,  behind  the  backs  of  his  pur- 
suers. 

Lilly  also  found  reasons  for  justifying  herself. 

**I  am  merely  fulfilling  my  destiny.  I  am  now  getting 
back  the  possession  which  fate  promised  to  me  and  which 
the  old  man  so  long  kept  from  me." 

In  addition  there  was  a  redeeming  element  in  all  she  did, 
consecrating  the  most  arrant  deception  and  endowing  it 
with  purity.  This  was  the  consciousness  that  he  was  be- 
ing saved.  Under  the  spell  of  a  lofty  love  he  would  learn 
to  scorn  vulgar  escapades  and,  borne  on  the  wings  of  a 
woman's  expiating  favour,  he  would  rise  to  the  heights  on 
which  men  and  heroes  dwell. 

With  these  thoughts  she  drugged  her  conscience  each 
time ;  and  wh€n  he  lay  in  her  arms  she  gave  them  whispered 
expression — ^the  doors  were  not  heavy  and  all  sounds  must 
be  muffled. 

He  laughed  and  kissed  the  words  from  her  mouth.  If 
she  grew  uneasy  and  demanded  pledges,  he  vowed  the  stars 
out  of  the  heaven. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  now  never  stayed  in  Lilly's  room 


# 

248  The  Song  of  Songs 

ft 

later  than  eleven  o'clock.  This  was  the  hour  he  might 
come,  and  by  half  past  one  he  had  to  be  gone. 

Of  course  he  had  to  confine  his  visits  to  the  evenings 
when  the  colonel  went  to  town.  On  account  of  the  time 
the  trains  ran,  the  colonel  could  not  possibly  return  be- 
fore two.  Besides  the  carriage  could  be  heard  at  some 
distance. 

Before  Walter  left  he  had  to  unlock  the  door  to  the 
colonel's  room,  and  smoke  a  cigarette  to  rid  the  atmosphere 
of  the  stable  and  leather  smell  he  brought  with  him  from 
his  own  room.  For  it  often  happened  that  the  colonel 
stuck  his  head  in  before  going  to  bed ;  or,  if  the  wine  had 
loosened  his  tongue,  he  would  even  awaken  Lilly,  seat  him- 
self at  her  bedside,  laugh,  cast  about  his  dagger  glances, 
pick  his  yellow  teeth,  and  tell  the  juiciest  stories  which 
had  arrived  fresh  from  the  Berlin  centres  of  obscenity  and 
made  the  rounds  of  his  club  in  town. 

Lilly  played  the  drowsy  pussy,  and  purred  and  yawned. 
She  began  to  feel  so  secure  that  once  she  actually  fell 
asleep  right  in  the  middle  of  a  laugh. 

Oh,  if  only  there  had  been  no  Miss  von  Schwertf eger ! 

Not  that  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  had  noticed  anything. 
The  horrors  of  such  a  possibility  were  inconceivable.  But 
her  restless,  hasty  comings  and  goings,  the  almost  anxious 
greed  with  which  she  pried  about,  gave  sufficient  cause  for 
concern. 

She  looked  very  pale  and  worn,  while  the  fleshy  region 
about  her  mouth  and  her  sharp,  scenting  nose  glowed  a  still 
deeper  red. 

You  might  suppose  she  tippled  in  secret.  But  such  a 
thing  would  be  bound  to  leak  out,  and  at  table  scarcely 
a  drop  passed  her  lips. 

**Let  her  do  whatever  she  wants  to/'  thought  Lilly, 


^  The  Song  of  Songs  249 

''if  only  she  doesn't  come  spying  on  me  as  she  did  on 
Katie.'' 

And  sometimes  it  occurred  to  Lilly  that  she  herself 
was  no  better  than  the  poor  maid  Katie,  whom  they  had 
chased  from  the  castle. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XXII 

It  was  shortly  before  midnight  one  evening  late  in  No- 
vember. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  had  said  good-night,  and  he  was 
sitting  at  Lilly's  pillow  wet  and  frozen  through.  He  had 
been  standing  in  the  chilly  drizzle  a  long  time  before  the 
signal  agreed  upon — two  rattles  of  the  shutter  bolt — ^had 
summoned  him  to  her  room. 

Now,  everything  was  serene.  The  entire  house  was 
asleep ;  the  watchman  had  made  his  rounds,  and  the  ladder, 
which  Von  Prell  drew  up  after  him  for  greater  security, 
reposed  peacefully  on  the  balcony. 

The  blue-shaded  chandelier  bathed  the  warm,  perfumed 
room  in  the  light  of  a  summer  evening.  Drops  of  rain 
splashed  softly  against  the  shutters,  and  the  November 
wind  whined  like  a  beggar. 

Lilly  lay  comfortably  under  her  blue  silk  quilt,  holding 
his  hand  and  dreaming  up  into  his  face,  which,  even  in 
moments  of  self -abandon,  retained  its  expression  of 
abashed  roguery.  She  saw  the  freckled  bridge  of  his  nose, 
the  white-lashed,  blinking  eyes,  the  peaked  chin  covered 
with  stubble  and  almost  hidden  by  the  green  collar  of  his 
working  jacket.  He  could  no  longer  smarten  himself  for 
her  sake.     His  housemates  might  notice  the  change. 

They  did  not  say  much  to  each  other.  If  only  he  was 
with  her,  he  who  belonged  to  her  in  life  and  death,  who 
like  herself  had  been  cast  astray  in  this  strange  world. 

She  drew  his  head  down  and  stroked  his  forehead  smooth 

250 


The  Song  of  Songs  251 

from  lack  of  a  man's  cares,  and  wiped  away  a  few  drops 
still  clinging  to  his  temples. 

The  clock  on  the  wall  struck  twelve  softly,  the  hanging 
lamp  swung  back  and  forth,  casting  long  sliding  shadows 
on  the  ceiling,  like  the  shadow  of  a  rocking  cradle,  or  like 
great  raven's  wings  flitting  to  and  fro  inaudibly. 

Suddenly  from  the  court  came  the  rumble  of  carriage 
wheels,  whether  in  arrival  or  departure  they  could  not  de- 
termine. Both  started  up  and  listened  and  looked  at  the 
clock. 

Twelve — impossible!  The  horses  were  never  harnessed 
before  quarter  to  two.  They  would  have  to  wait  entirely 
too  long  at  the  station. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  milkman  who  had  been  delayed  at 
the  railroad  in  getting  his  cans. 

They  calmed  down. 

A  long,  precious  hour  was  still  ahead  of  them,  rich  in 
care-free  pleasures  and  oblivion. 

To  express  his  triumph  Von  Prell  sucked  in  his  cheeks 
and  rounded  his  eyes. 

With  a  luxurious  smile  Lilly  put  out  her  arms  and  drew 
herself  up  to  him. 

At  that  instant  three  short,  sharp  raps  sounded  on  the 
door  opening  into  the  corridor,  and  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
called : 

''Open  the  door,  Lilly!    At  once!'* 

Walter  jumped  to  his  feet. 

When  Lilly  looked  around  he  had  already  left  the  room. 

She  felt  a  ringing  in  her  ears,  a  dull  desire  to  let  her- 
self sink  down ;  but  renewed  raps  at  the  door  tore  her  out 
of  bed  and  insisted  upon  her  turning  the  key. 

Before  she  could  stow  herself  under  the  covers  again  to 
conceal  her  overwhelming   shanxe,   she  noticed   Miss  von 


252  The  Song  of  Songs 

Schwertfeger  look  about  the  room  hastily,  make  a  dash 
for  something  round  and  grey  unostentatiously  lying  in  a 
corner — Lilly  did  not  realise  it  was  Walter's  cap  until 
later — shove  back  the  bolt  of  the  door  to  the  colonel's 
room,  and  then  in  sudden  transition  to  tranquillity  seat 
herself  alongside  Lilly's  pillow. 

**Be  careful  not  to  cry,"  Lilly  heard  her  say;  and  that 
instant  the  colonel's  step  resounded  in  the  corridor. 

*  *  Well,  well,  so  late !  How  time  does  fly  when  you  talk ! ' ' 
cried  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  for  the  benefit  of  the  colonel 
before  he  entered.  Her  voice  expressed  endless  astonish- 
ment. 

There  he  stood  disagreeably  surprised,  it  seemed,  not  to 
find  his  young  wife  alone. 

** Where  did  you  drop  from  all  of  a  sudden,  colonel? 
You  didn't  order  a  special  train,  did  you?  You  couldn't 
have  flown  here  either.  At  least  I've  never  observed  that 
you  possess  the  art  of  flying,  have  you  Lilly  dear?  Poor 
Lilly's  lying  there  perfectly  stiff  with  surprise." 

Thus  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  talked  against  time,  evi- 
dently trying  to  secure  a  few  moments  for  Lilly  in  which 
she  might  pull  herself  together. 

And  the  colonel  willy-nilly  had  to  render  account.  On 
the  way  to  the  station  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  one 
of  the  neighbours — he  mentioned  the  name — was  celebrating 
his  birthday  that  day.  So  he  drove  over  to  his  place  in- 
stead of  going  to  town. 

*'Well,"  said  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  **the  greatest  mar- 
vels have  the  simplest  explanations.  Good-night,  dear,  I 
hope  you  sleep  well  and  get  rid  of  that  headache  of  yours." 

The  colonel  pricked  up  his  ears. 

**If  she  has  a  headache,  why  didn't  you  let  her  go  to 
sleep  long  ago  ? ' ' 

When  once  aroused,  not  the  least  inconsistency  escaped 


The  Song  of  Songs  253 

his  attention.  But  IVfiss  von  Schwertfeger  was  his  match, 
and  rejoined  without  an  instant's  hesitation: 

**She  wanted  compresses  again,  but  I  thought  it  better 
simply  to  hold  my  hand  to  her  forehead.  She  was  just 
about  to  go  to  sleep ;  and  we  ought  not  to  disturb  her  any 
more.  Don't  you  agree  with  me,  colonel?  Good-night, 
colonel.*' 

With  that  she  extinguished  the  lights. 

Lilly  wanted  to  cry  to  her: 

*'Stay  here,  stay  here,  he'll  choke  me.*' 

But  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  was  already  out  in  the  cor- 
ridor; and  she  had  done  such  excellent  preliminary  work 
that  the  colonel  after  a  brief  *'I  hope  you  feel  better,"  to 
Lilly,  left  the  room  without  further  question. 

Had  he  remained,  the  game  might  have  ended  in  a 
nervous  breakdown. 

Lilly  lay  in  bed  paralysed  by  a  dull  fright,  listening 
now  for  sounds  in  the  colonel's  room,  now  to  the  wailing 
of  the  wind,  interrupted  for  three  or  four  seconds  by  a 
very,  very  soft  rustle. 

That  was  the  ladder  gliding  over  the  rail  as  Walter  let 
it  down  from  the  balcony.  So  long  as  he  had  seen  the  light 
in  Lilly's  room,  he  had  wisely  remained  on  the  balcony. 
She  could  hear  him  remove  the  ladder  and  set  it  where  it 
belonged.  Now  at  length,  now  that  she  felt  they  were 
both  secure,  came  a  shuddering  realisation  of  what  had 
happened,  accompanied  by  a  desire  to  call  out  and  cry 
aloud. 

Anna  von  Schwertfeger !  What  had  her  conduct  meant  ? 
What  had  impelled  her  to  implicate  herself  in  so  sinful  a 
deed?  Wasn't  she  risking  her  name,  her  existence,  the 
reward  of  many  years*  labour?  How  had  Lilly,  wretched 
sinner  that  she  was,  come  to  deserve  so  great  a  sacrifice? 
Her  heart  expanded  in  gratitude.     She  could  no  longer  en- 


254  The  Song  of  Songs 

dure  lying  in  bed.  She  would  have  to  go  down  and  thank 
Anna  forthwith. 

She  dressed  without  making  a  sound,  took  the  precaution 
to  bolt  the  door  between  the  two  bedrooms,  and  slipped  out 
into  the  dark  corridor,  where  she  peeped  through  the  key- 
hole of  the  colonel's  room,  and  saw  him  lying  in  bed  al- 
ready. The  old  oak  steps  cracked  frightfully;  but  they 
had  that  habit  even  when  no  one  was  walking  on  them, 
and  often  kept  up  the  sound  of  a  tread  all  night. 

Light  was  shining  in  Miss  von  Schwertf eger 's  room. 
Lilly  heard  her  sharp,  hard  steps  as  she  paced  to  and  fro. 

Finally  she  ventured  to  knock. 

**Who's  therer' 

*'I,  Anna.    I— Lilly." 

'*What  do  you  want?     Go  back  to  bed." 

**No,  no,  no.    I  must  speak  to  you.     I  must." 

The  door  opened. 

**Well,  then,  come  in." 

Lilly  wanted  to  throw  her  arms  about  Miss  von  Schwert- 
f eger 's  neck,  but  she  shook  her  off. 

**I'm  not  in  the  mood  for  scenes,"  she  said.  Her 
trumpet-toned  voice,  which  she  muffled  with  difficulty,  had 
lost  all  traces  of  sympathy.  **And  you  needn^t  thank  me, 
because  I  did  not  act  from  love  of  you." 

Lilly  seemed  very  small  to  herself  and  very  much 
scolded.  Since  the  days  of  her  thrashings  at  the  hands 
of  Mrs.  Asmussen  no  one  had  ever  given  her  such  a  recep- 
tion. 

** First  you  help  me,"  she  faltered,  **and  then — " 

**  Since  you  are  here,  you  might  as  well  answer  some 
questions  I  have  to  ask,"  said  Miss  von  Schwertf  eger. 
** Close  your  dress — it's  cold  here — and  sit  down."  Lilly 
obeyed.  **In  the  first  place:  did  I  in  any  way  ever  help 
to  bring  about  a  meeting  between  you  and  that  man?" 


The  Song  of  Songs  255 

**Wheii  could  you  have?** 

* '  That  *s  what  I  am  asking.  * ' 

**0n  the  contrary.  You  weren't  even  willing  for  me 
to  take  the  riding  lessons.'* 

**Then,  later,  did  I  ever  leave  you  without  supervision 
while  you  were  taking  your  lessons?" 

** Without  supervision?  Why,  almost  always  you  your- 
self were   present." 

**Was  it  I  who  proposed  your  going  out  riding  alone 
with  him?" 

**You?  Of  course  not.  The  first  time  we  went  without 
asking,  and  after  that  it  was  the  colonel  who  wanted  us 
to." 

**Was  I  careful  to  see  that  everything  in  your  room 
was  in  order?" 

**I  don't  know.  I  think  so.  Why,  even  lately  I've 
noticed  you  come  to  my  room  before  you  went  to  bed 
as  if  to  say  good-night." 

** You've  probably  taken  me  to  be  your  enemy,  your 
spy." 

**Ycu  wouldn't  put  yourself  out  for  me  very  much,  I 
thought." 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  laughed  a  hard,  dreary  laugh. 

**What  you  say  is  very  valuable,"  she  said.  **It  proves 
to  me  that  I  made  no  blunders  in  carrying  out  my  plan, 
and  need  not  reproach  myself  for  anything." 

"What  plan?"  asked  Lilly,  utterly  bewildered. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  measured  her  with  a  glance  of 
pitying  scorn. 

**My  dear  child,  I  knew  everything.  I  saw  it  coming 
from  the  very  first,  the  moment  you  met  him.  I  calcu- 
lated it  on  my  fingers  the  way  I  calculate  the  cost  of  a 
meal.    I  simply  let  matters  drift.     I  could  do  so  without 


256  The  Song  of  Songs 

dishonouring  myself.  Besides  there  was  no  use  interfering. 
You  were  bent  upon  your  own  ruin." 

*'What  have  I  done  to  you,"  Lilly  stammered,  swallow- 
ing her  tears,  **to  make  you  hate  me  so?  I  never  wanted 
to  oust  you  from  your  position.  I  subjected  myself  to  you 
from  the  very  first.  I  put  myself  completely  into  your 
hands,  and  now  you  do  this  to  me. ' ' 

*'If  I  hated  you,  you  wouldn't  be  sitting  here.  You 
would  probably  be  straying  along  some  country  road.  I 
had  you  in  my  grasp  and  could  have  crushed  you  at  least 
a  dozen  times,  but  didn  't.  However,  I  '11  tell  you  the  truth. 
I  did  hate  you,  that  is,  before  I  knew  you.  I  imagined  you 
a  sly,  fresh  little  thing,  who  held  off  from  the  colonel  in 
a  pure  spirit  of  calculation,  until  he  adopted  the  extreme 
measure  to  which  old  libertines  resort  in  such  cases.  But 
when  I  saw  you,  you  dear  child,  without  malice  or  guile, 
defenceless,  and  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world  to 
love  the  colonel  and  me,  too,  if  possible,  I  had  to  back 
down — I  and  my  hate.  Then  you  became  nothing  else  to 
me  than  a  small,  insignificant  creature,  which  one  uses  so 
long  as  it  is  serviceable,  and  shoves  aside  after  it  has  ful- 
filled its  purpose.  I  am  not  concerned  with  you  any  more. 
You  dropped  out  of  the  game  long  ago,  and  now  the  colonel 
and  myself  are  playing  it  alone.  I'll  have  to  have  it  out 
with  him,  and  then  my  work's  done." 

Lilly  felt  nothing  but  dull,  impotent  astonishment,  as  if 
doors  were  being  opened  and  curtains  drawn  aside;  and 
she  were  looking  into  men's  hearts  as  into  a  fiery  abyss. 

**I  thought  you  were  so  attached  to  him,"  she  said.  **I 
thought- " 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  her  first  suspicion  had 
not  been  far  from  the  truth.  This  hardened,  commanding 
spinster,  whose  beauty  was  not  yet  entirely  faded,  had 
found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  her  employer  some  ten  or  fifteen 


The  Song  of  Songs  257 

years  before,  had  then  been  neglected,  and  was  now  taking 
revenge. 

Miss  von  Sehwertfeger  divined  her  thoughts,  and  dis- 
missed them  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 

**Had  it  been  that,'*  she  said,  *'I  should  have  known 
how  to  acquiesce  in  my  fate.  And  if  I  had  still  retained 
my  place  in  the  castle,  I  should  have  cherished  it  as  my 
sanctuary.  No,  my  dear,  matters  in  this  world  are  not  so 
simple.     There  are  even  worse  hells.  *' 

Lilly  now  heard  a  story  which  filled  her  soul  with  horror 
and  pity — the  story  of  the  house  she  lived  in,  the  story  of 
which  she  was  the  concluding  chapter. 

The  colonel,  who  had  always  been  a  man  of  violence  and 
a  mad  voluptuary,  had  insisted  upon  taking  in  pupils  in 
housekeeping  under  the  pretext  that  when  he  came  home 
on  leave,  he  had  to  have  youth  and  jollity  about  him.  He 
reserved  for  himself  the  choice  of  the  pupils.  In  this  way 
only  those  came  whom  he  had  decided  upon  in  advance. 
For  a  long  time  Miss  von  Sehwertfeger  noticed  nothing 
amiss.  But  the  servants  began  to  tell  her  stories  of  secret 
orgies  and  mad  chases  on  the  upper  floor,  of  how  the  colonel 
pursued  girls  clad  in  glittering  raiment — the  colonel  had 
always  liked  transparent  robes  of  silver.  Miss  von 
Sehwertfeger  *s  eyes  were  completely  opened  when  some  of 
the  girls  attempted  suicide.  She  left.  But  she  was  poor 
and  accustomed  to  command,  and  she  could  not  endure 
subordinate  positions.  Dreadful  distress  was  the  result. 
The  colonel  had  not  lost  her  from  sight;  and  when  it 
seemed  to  him  she  had  sunk  low  enough,  he  again  offered 
her  the  position  of  housekeeper  in  his  castle,  promising  she 
would  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  She  crawled  back  to 
him  like  a  starved  dog.  Soon  he  broke  his  word,  and  the 
indecent  goings-on  began  again.  But  she  no  longer  had 
the  courage  to  resist.    She  learned  to  be  blind  and  deaf 


258  The  Song  of  Songs 

when  lewd  glances  were  exchanged  at  table  and  screams 
and  laughter  penetrated  to  her  room  during  the  night. 
She  even  learned  to  keep  curious  servants  at  a  distance, 
and  throw  a  cover  of  concealment  over  the  house's  shame. 
Her  relation  to  the  girls  became  motherly. 

**I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  she  interposed,  **if  he  hadn't 
made  the  same  proposition  to  you,  saying  I  would  take 
care  of  you." 

The  fateful  evening  in  which  she  had  become  the  colo- 
nel's  betrothed  arose  in  Lilly's  memory.  While  walking 
about  her  greedily,  still  in  a  state  of  indecision,  lie  had 
spoken  of  a  fine,  aristocratic  woman  under  whose  protection 
she  should  live  in  his  castle  until  she  had  grown  into  wom- 
anhood. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  went  on  with  her  recital.  She 
described  how  rage  at  the  disgraceful  position  she  was  in 
ate  into  her  soul  like  a  malignant  cancer,  how  it  finally 
took  sole  possession  of  her  being  to  the  exclusion  of  every 
feeling  except  the  desire  for  reprisal.  His  marriage  should 
furnish  the  weapons.  She  would  be  blind  and  deaf,  just 
as  she  had  been  compelled  to  be  before.  Nothing  else.  She 
would  simply  let  matters  take  their  natural  course. 

Thus  she  had  acted  until  that  night. 

And  that  night  the  sword  must  surely  have  fallen  on 
Lilly  and  the  colonel ;  but  at  the  last  decisive  moment  she 
realised  her  strength  would  not  hold  out.  That  young, 
good-natured,  guiltless  yet  guilty  wife,  had  become  too  dear 
to  her.  She  could  not  sacrifice  Lilly  to  her  scheme  of  re- 
venge. 

**I  thought  you  said  you  hadn't  acted  out  of  love  for 
me,"  Lilly  ventured  to  interject. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger  fixed  her  eyes  on  Lilly's  face  in 
an  aggrieved  stare. 

**My  dear  child,  if  you  weren't  a  stupid  thing,  who  has 


The  Song  of  Songs  259 

to  sin  in  order  to  mature,  you  would  have  a  better  under- 
standing of  what  goes  on  inside  a  person  like  myself.  For 
the  present  be  satisfied  that  you  are  out  of  danger. ' ' 

In  a  gush  of  gratitude  Lilly  threw  herself  on  Miss  von 
Schwertf eger,  and  kissed  her  face  and  hands ;  and  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  no  longer  repulsed  her.  She  stroked  her 
hair,  and  spoke  to  her  as  to  a  child. 

Kneeling  at  her  feet  Lilly  confessed.  She  told  how  her 
relations  with  Walter  had  developed  insensibly,  how  they 
had  been  old  friends,  and  how  he  had  really  been  the  author 
of  her  happiness. 

**  Happiness  ?' '  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  drawled,  and 
drew  in  the  air  through  the  right  corner  of  her  mouth, 
causing  a  sound  like  a  whistle. 

Lilly  started,  looked  at  her,  and  understood. 

The  question  burned  in  her  brain:  **Am  I  better  than 
I  should  have  been  had  I  allowed  the  colonel  to  drag  me 
here  without  marrying  me?" 

Eleven  months  had  passed  since  that  night  when  he 
courted  her. 

She  put  her  arms  about  Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  and 
cried,  cried,  cried.  It  was  so  good  to  know  there  was  a 
sisterly,  no,  a  motherly,  person  in  whose  dress  she  could 
bury  her  tearful  face.  She  had  not  experienced  such 
easement  since  the  day  a  certain  knife  had  been  waved  over 
her  head. 

The  affair  with  Von  Prell,  of  course,  could  not  go  on. 
He  and  Lilly  must  not  meet  even  once  again.  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  demanded  it,  and  Lilly  acquiesced  without  a 
word  of  protest. 

If  only  she  had  not  had  her  mission ! 

**What  mission?"  asked  Miss  von  Schwertfeger. 

Lilly  told  of  the  holy  task  she  had  to  perform  in  his 
life  J  how  her  love  had  awakened  him  to  the  realisation  of 


260  The  Song  of  Songs 

a  loftier,  purer  life;  how  she  had  to  answer  with  every 
drop  of  blood  in  her  body  for  his  rising  to  better  things 
and  entering  upon  a  noble,  beneficent  field  of  activity. 

It  was  Miss  von  Schwertf eger 's  turn  to  be  astonished. 
She  listened,  and  looked  at  Lilly  with  great,  doubting  eyes, 
then  got  up,  and  paced  the  room  agitatedly,  muttering: 

* '  Incredible !     Incredible ! ' ' 

"When  Lilly  asked  her  what  was  incredible,  she  kissed 
her  on  her  forehead,  and  said: 

**You  poor  thing!'' 

**Why?'' 

** Because  you  will  suffer  much  in  life.*' 

Thereupon  it  was  agreed  that  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
should  speak  with  him  once  again,  and  the  price  of  her 
silence  was  to  be  the  breaking  off  of  all  relations  between 
him  and  Lilly.  They  must  not  take  their  rides  together, 
either. 

Lilly  begged  for  only  one  thing,  to  be  allowed  to  write 
him  a  farewell  letter.  She  thought  she  owed  this  to  him 
so  that  he  should  not  harbour  doubts  of  her  and  his 
future. 

Then  the  two  women  parted. 

Released,  redeemed,  bom  into  a  new  life,  Lilly  walked 
upstairs,  forgetting  every  precaution.  But,  thank  good- 
ness! the  colonel  was  snoring. 

The  clock  struck  four,  and  the  shuffling  of  the  stablemen 
already  resounded  in  the  courtyard. 

Before  Lilly  threw  herself  in  bed,  she  cast  a  look  of 
farewellat  the  lodge,  and  rejoiced  that  renunciation  was 
so  easy.    She  had  not  thought  it  possible. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

**Dear  Beloved  Mr.  von  Prell: — 

From  what  has  happened  you  can  imagine  that  every- 
thing between  us  must  come  to  an  end.  Yes,  airs  over. 
We  shall  never  see  each  other  except  at  meal  times.  If  you 
ask  me  whether  I  am  very  sad,  I  will  be  brave  and  say, 
''no,"  hoping  thereby  to  assuage  the  pain  of  parting  for 
both  of  us. 

But  easy  or  difficult — that's  not  the  question.  The  main 
thing  is,  our  feelings  should  raise  us  to  pure  heights.  True 
greatness  of  renunciation  must  illumine  our  lives.  Yes,  I 
expect  you  to  show  the  greatness  of  renunciation.  Our 
lives  after  this  must  be  dedicated  entirely  to  recollections 
of  the  past.  Besides,  can  we  hope  ever  again  to  find  any- 
thing so  beautiful  as  those  unspeakably  exquisite  hours  we 
passed  together?  I  have  given  up  thoughts  of  happiness, 
and  you  must  do  the  same.  From  now  on  my  one  sacred 
interest  will  be  my  husband's  welfare;  and  I  ask  you,  with 
all  the  strength  you  possess,  likewise  to  labour  at  the  re- 
construction of  your  life. 

Life  is  earnest,  solemn,  holy.  I  feel  it  is.  The  convic- 
tion comes  upon  me  with  force,  and  has  possessed  me  ever 
since  I  was  led  back  to  the  right  path  by  a  friend  of  mine. 
lYou  must  feel  it,  too. 

This  letter  is  my  last  to  you.  Write  to  me  once  again. 
Oh,  only  once.  And  stick  the  answer  in  the  pea-shooter, 
which  still  stands  on  the  balcony.  I  shall  have  no  peace 
until  I  know  our  souls  are  united  by  the  same  ideal.  Fare- 
well, and  at  table  don't  make  any  secret  allusions  to  the 

261 


262  '  The  Song  of  Songs 

past.    Yoa  would  merely  hurt  me  and  make  me  doubt 
your  good  faith. 
Ever  with  feelings  of  sisterly  friendship, 

Your  L.  V.  M/' 

** Dearest  Friend: — 

The  profound  emotions  which  have  held  me  in  their 
grip  since  my  interview  with  our  honoured  friend,  have,  if 
possible,  been  deepened  by  your  lovely  letter.  I  feel  a 
tremendous  impulse  to  accomplish  by  deeds  of  atonement 
that  which  has  never  yet  been.  I  am  prepared  to  scorn 
the  seven  deadly  sins.  I  will  carry  in  mind  all  the  para- 
gons of  virtue  from  the  young  Tobias  to  St.  Helena,  and 
will  try  to  find  that  pure  happiness  in  the  great  renuncia- 
tion you  demand  of  me,  which  alone,  they  say,  is  unalloyed 
with  regret — an  advantage  which  bears  little  weight  with 
me,  since  I  am  acquainted  with  that  evil  institution  only  by 
hearsay. 

Well,  then,  dearest,  most  charming  of  women,  farewell. 
It  was  very  delightful.  I  can  swear  to  that  without  per- 
juring myself.  Should  you  require  pledges  for  the  future, 
I  can  further  swear  that :  1,  I  will  shun  alcohol ;  2,  I  will 
declare  war  upon  the  female  sex;  3,  I  will  devote  myself 
to  the  encyclopedia  of  agriculture  with  inordinate,  unal- 
terable love.     Ha,  do  you  smell  the  rarified  atmosphere? 

Once  more,  farewell.  After  I  have  climbed  the  ladder 
of  my  hopes  for  the  last  time,  I  will  lay  it  to  repose  under 
a  wintry  grave  of  pine  branches.  When  the  time  comes, 
may  it  awaken  to  a  new  spring. 

With  a  kiss  on  your  slim,  refreshingly  large  hand. 
Your  much  improved, 

Walter  von  Prell." 

Lilly  found  this  letter  the  second  morning  after  the  great 


The  ISong  of  Songs  263 

event  in  the  shape  of  a  pellet  stuck  into  the  mouth  of  the 
pea-shooter,  which  leaned  innocently  against  the  jamb  of 
the  balcony  door. 

It  did  not  provide  her  with  unqualified  satisfaction. 
There  were  turns  of  expression  in  it  which  raised  doubts 
as  to  the  sincerity  of  his  conversion.  Nevertheless,  his  as- 
severations were  so  plain  and  unmistakable  she  felt  she 
might  take  the  core  to  be  sound.  It  was  simply  that  he 
could  not  refrain  from  his  wanton  way  of  speaking,  which 
the  person  who  loved  him  would  have  to  acquiesce  in. 

She  kissed  the  letter  and  stuck  it  in  her  bosom,  to  lie 
there  warm  and  secure  awhile  before  she  tore  it  up. 

In  the  afternoon  she  took  a  walk  about  the  grounds, 
and  actually  found  under  her  balcony  a  long  heap  of  pine 
branches  from  between  which  a  few  ladder  rungs  peeped 
at  her  familiarly. 

Rejoiced  at  this  token  of  his  pain  she  ran  off  to  the 
park,  now  soggy  from  the  autumn  rains,  and  sauntered 
about,  marvelling  from  time  to  time  that  renunciation  was 
so  easy. 

After  all  it  was  not  so  easy. 

She  discovered  it  was  not  in  the  course  of  the  next  few 
days,  when  life  began  to  lose  its  content  and  intensity,  when 
the  hours  jogged  along  in  dreary  autumnal  greyness,  and 
the  evening  came  and  the  morning  came  without  a  reason 
why. 

Moreover,  she  failed  to  find  that  support  in  Anna  von 
Schwertfeger  which  she  had  expected  to.  Although  her 
friend  withdrew  none  of  the  promises  she  had  made,  yet  a 
shadowy  wall  circumscribed  her,  which  no  insinuating  love 
could  penetrate.  She  seemed  almost  to  fear  that  too  great 
familiarity  with  Lilly  would  bring  down  upon  her  own 
head  the  sin  of  the  adulteress. 

Lilly  had  much  to  suffer  from  the  colonel  these  days. 


264  The  Song  of  Songs 

She,  like  the  rest,  now  fell  a  victim  to  his  attacks  of  fury. 
And  what  was  worse,  in  moments  of  quiet  self-abandon, 
she  would  suddenly  feel  his  dark,  lowering  look  fastened 
upon  her,  betokening  many  a  thought  in  his  mind  which 
boded  her  no  good. 

She  began  to  fear  he  had  gotten  wind  of  her  affair 
with  Von  Prell;  but  Anna  pooh-poohed  the  idea. 

*'The  symptoms  would  be  rather  different,**  she  re- 
marked. *'Such  a  suspicion  would  not  pass  without  leay- 
ing  a  few  broken  chairs  or  lamps  behind.  My  opinion  is, 
he  feels  bored  at  home.  He's  hankering  for  the  regiment, 
and  holds  you  responsible  for  the  change  in  his  life.  I 
sincerely  hope  he  doesn't  come  to  hate  you  on  that  ac- 
count. In  that  event  only  two  courses  would  be  open  to 
you:  separation  or  suicide." 

Here  was  small  comfort.  And  no  less  dispiriting  was  his 
hesitation  to  introduce  her  to  the  neighbours.  Long  before, 
Miss  von  Schwertfeger  had  declared  Lilly's  education  com- 
plete. No  colonel's  wife  or  highborn  dame  could  now 
find  fault  with  her  manners.  But  the  colonel  looked  at 
her  distrustfully,  and  deferred  the  visits  from  week  to 
week. 

Lilly  kept  up  bravely  in  all  her  tribulations.  Faith  in 
herself  and,  still  more,  faith  in  him,  gave  her  peace  and 
strength. 

She  regulated  her  days  strictly  according  to  rule  with 
a  fixed  occupation  for  each  hour.  She  learned  Goethe's 
poems  by  heart,  studied  Shakespeare  in  English,  read  his- 
tories of  art,  and  lost  herself  in  the  mazes  of  the  French 
Revolution. 

She  took  special  delight  in  a  large  geographical  work,  in 
which  there  were  many  pictures  of  southern  ports,  tropical 
forests,  and  bald,  rocky  mountain  ranges. 


The  Song  of  Songs  265 

There  were  also  full  illustrations  of  Italy — pious  pilgrims 
on  crusades,  enigmatic  churches,  and  slender-columned  por- 
ticos, which  filled  her  with  an  ardent  longing-  to  be 
there. 

When  she  travelled  great  distances  into  strange  coun- 
tries and  looked  about  timidly  to  find  her  way  back  again, 
whom  did  she  see  standing  there  all  of  a  sudden,  blond, 
freckled,  in  a  black  and  white  checked  fall  suit,  making 
deep  reverences?    **As  my  lady  commands." 

The  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes. 

Her  one  diversion  was  to  stand  behind  her  balcony  door 
— without  his  knowing  she  was  there,  of  course — and  look 
over  to  the  lodge  through  the  openings  in  the  vine,  the 
last  leaves  of  which  fluttered  like  little  red  flags. 

Oh,  she  might  be  proud  of  him.  "When  he  sat  at  the 
window  in  his  leisure  hours  he  never  let  himself  be  seen 
without  the  encyclopedia  of  agriculture  in  his  hands. 

He  closed  his  shutters  early  every  evening.  In  his 
frivolous  days  he  had  hung  heavy  portieres  at  the  windows, 
which,  with  the  help  of  the  shutters,  prevented  the  tiniest 
ray  of  light  from  penetrating  to  the  outside. 

Lilly  doubted  not  in  the  least  that  his  student's  lamp 
burned  until  late  at  night,  while  he  sat  there  over  his 
book  copying  valuable  extracts  and  soaring  on  the  pinions 
of  great  creative  ideas. 

She  soared  with  him.  She  knew  he  could  not  lose  his 
footing  now.  She  had  his  vow,  and  he  held  her  honour 
in  his  keeping.  That  would  serve  as  a  talisman,  a  guide 
on  the  road  leading  upward  to  a  new  life. 

A  few  weeks  passed. 

He  begged  to  be  excused  from  coming  to  Sunday  din- 
ners; for  which  she  was  grateful  to  him.  Fortune  had 
favoured  her  still  further  by  having  bestowed  a  cold  upon 


266  The  Song  of  Songs 

her  that  fateful  night,  as  a  result  of  which  the  physician 
forbade  horseback  riding  throughout  the  winter.  In  this 
Miss  von  Sehwertfeger  probably  had  a  hand. 

Once  on  a  day  early  in  December,  the  colonel,  as  if  to 
spite  his  customary  surliness,  appeared  at  dinner  in  high 
feather.  He  chuckled  to  himself,  his  eyes  danced  and 
looked  cunning,  secret  laughter,  as  it  were,  ran  down  his 
cheeks  in  rivulets. 

Lilly  ventured  to  ask  what  was  amusing  him. 

At  first  he  refused  to  speak. 

**0h,  stuff  and  nonsense,  mind  your  own  affairs.'*  But 
he  could  not  contain  himself,  and  finally  began:  **Well, 
guess  what  happened  to  me.  One  of  the  men  at  the  club 
said  to  me  I  'd  better  look  sharp  to  my  Prell,  because  stories 
were  afloat  that  he  kept  knocking  about  in  vile  joints  night 
after  night  and  had  even  gotten  mixed  up  in  a  nasty  brawl 
on  account  of  a  hussy  of  a  bar-maid.'* 

Lilly  felt  an  icy  numbness  creep  slowly  upward  from 
her  feet.  Her  limbs  grew  rigid.  She  smiled,  and  the 
smile  cut  into  her  cheeks  like  a  sharp-edged  stone. 

**At  first,  of  course,  I  merely  laughed  at  him,  because, 
you  know,  there's  only  the  one  train  to  take  going  and 
coming,  and  lately  I^ve  been  on  that  train  nearly  every 
day.  No  horse  can  stand  twenty  miles  each  way  night 
after  night,  and  the  pocket  money  I  give  him  won't  hire 
a  special  train.  That's  what  I  said  to  the  major;  but  he 
insisted.  The  younger  gentlemen  had  told  him;  and  it 
would  be  a  pity  if  after  all  Von  Prell  had  to  be  deprived 
of  his  uniform.  When  I  got  to  the  station  at  one  o'clock, 
the  business  was  still  buzzing  about  in  my  head,  I  had  a 
few  moments'  time,  so  I  looked  through  the  whole  train — 
fourth  class  and  all.     Of  course,  not  a  sign.     I  did  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  267 

same  thing  three  times  in  succession.  Well,  I  thought, 
it's  a  lie.  And  now  listen.  Yesterday,  when  I  was  just 
about  to  get  into  the  train  at  this  end,  I  remembered  I  had 
left  my  umbrella  in  the  carriage.  I  can't  get  used  to 
that  piece  of  furniture.  So  I  went  back.  The  platform 
was  already  empty,  but  the  train  was  still  standing  there; 
and  when  I  passed  the  baggage  car — sliding  doors  open — 
I  saw  someone  on  the  opposite  side  jump  out  to  the 
tracks  and  scamper  off.  *Stop!'  I  called.  But  he  ran 
and  ran,  into  the  woods.  I  was  going  to  tell  the  baggage 
master,  who  was  on  the  platform  next  to  the  locomotive, 
but  Prell  flashed  into  my  mind.  I  said  to  Henry:  'Drive 
as  if  the  devil  were  after  you,'  and  we  reached  here  ui 
»five  minutes.  But  then,  I  reflected,  he  must  have  heard 
the  carriage  wheels  from  the  path.  So  I  went  up  to  my 
room  to  hurry  and  turn  on  the  lights.  I  wanted  him  to 
think  I  was  in  my  room  already.  Did  I  wake  you  up, 
Lilly?"     The  colonel   started.     *'How  you   look,   Lilly!" 

**I?"  she  said,  and  smiled  again. 

**She  hasn't  been  feeling  very  well  all  day,"  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger  interjected  hastily.  *' Besides,  your  story's 
very  exciting,  colonel.     I'm  all  keyed  up,  too." 

**Hm,"  he  muttered,  twisting  the  end  of  his  black  dyed 
moustache,  evidently  little  desirous  of  concluding  his  tale. 
But  Lilly  could  not  calm  herself. 

"I  must  know,  I  must  know,"  she  cried,  clasping  her 
hands.     She  was  beside  herself. 

''Well,  then,"  said  the  colonel,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her, 
"down  I  go  again  in  a  jiffy — in  ambush  in  front  of  the 
lodge — there  he  comes,  stooping  like  a  polecat — stands 
still — eyes  my  window — sees  the  light — aha,  he  thinks,  all 
right.  And  just  as  he's  about  to  stick  the  key  in  the 
ipck,  I  tackle  Jtjim  by  the  collar/' 


268  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  burst  out  into  a  mad  laugh. 

*' Isn't  that  funny,  isn't  that  funny!"  she  cried.  This 
time  the  colonel  believed  her. 

** Something  funnier  's  coming,"  he  continued.  '*  'If 
you  confess  everything,'  I  said,  'I'll  pardon  you.  But 
only  on  that  condition.  Otherwise  you're  off  to-morrow 
bright  and  early.'  Well,  what  do  you  think  the  rascal 
was  up  to?  The  good-for-nothing  has  a  lady  love — bar- 
maid in  the  Golden  Apple — where  the  sergeants  and  clerks' 
resort.  So,  for  the  sake  of  bumming  with  her,  he  bribed 
a  railroad  official  and  actually  went  to  town  and  came  back 
as  a  piece  of  the  king's  baggage.  Night  after  night  rode 
in  the  same  train  as  I  did — each  way.  If  that  isn't  rank 
impudence,  what — Lilly ! ' ' 

A  pause  ensued.  Lilly  experienced  a  sensation  of  sway- 
ing and  reeling  as  if  tossed  on  stormy  seas,  a  buzzing  and 
singing;  at  the  same  time  she  felt  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
press  her  hand  under  the  table  by  way  of  warning. 

The  colonel  rose,  took  Lilly's  head  between  his  hands, 
and  pressing  it  until  she  thought  her  ears  would  split, 
said: 

"It  seems  you  do  need  rest." 

"With  that  he  faced  about,  and  left  the  room  abruptly. 

''Now  gather  your  wits  together,"  Lilly  heard  her 
friend's  disturbed  voice  behind  her,  "because  after  this 
he'll  be  on  the  look-out." 

Lilly  wanted  to  throw  herself  on  Miss  von  Schwert- 
feger's  breast  and  be  petted  and  comforted.  But  Miss  von 
Schwertfeger,  as  if  afraid  somebody  might  catch  her  in 
too  intimate  a  conversation  with  Lilly,  held  herself  aloof, 
and  said  coolly,  though  in  a  friendly  tone : 

"Excuse  me,  dear,  I  have  something  I  must  attend  to 
this  minute." 

With  that,  she,  too,  left  the  room. 


The  Song  of  Songs  269 

What  now? 

Lilly  stared  into  space.  The  remnants  of  the  precipi- 
tate meal  littered  the  table ;  the  dark  carved  furniture  cast 
black-edged  rays  from  out  of  the  room's  wintry  twilight; 
the  brass  chandeliers  gleamed  palely.  All  was  as  usual, 
and  yet  nothing  was  there,  nothing  but  an  awful,  all-de- 
vouring void,  an  abyss  which  drew  her  into  its  bosom  with 
the  enticements  of  grappling  hooks  and  huge  tongs. 

She  stepped  to  the  window  and  looked  out  apathetically. 

The  bare  branches  swayed  in  the  wind,  the  ivy  on  the 
railing  fluttered,  even  the  arched  stalks  of  the  rose  bushes, 
the  heads  of  which  the  gardener  had  secured  under  heaps 
of  earth,  trembled  and  quivered  this  way  and  that.  The 
world  was  writhing  in  the  clutch  of  winter.  The  only 
still  things  were  the  leaves  lying  on  the  thin  coating  of 
snow  which  covered  the  ground ;  but  the  leaves  were  dead 
already. 

What  now? 

If  that  could  happen,  then  the  very  earth  beneath  her 
feet  gave  way ;  then  there  was  no  hope,  no  rising  to  loftier 
heights,  no  strength,  and  no  fidelity;  then  you  might  as 
well  throw  yourself  down  beside  the  leaves  out  there  and 
die. 

But  before  that — what? 

Dishes  rattled  behind  her.  No  one  had  rung  for  the 
maid,  but  she  had  come  of  her  own  accord  and  was  helping 
Ferdinand  clear  the  table. 

Lilly  thought  of  Katie  and  that  other  creature  in  whose 
arms  he  had  made  mock  of  her  and  her  faith  in  him. 

She  dragged  her  torpid  legs  up  the  steps  to  the  rooms 
where  she  felt  at  home.  In  passing  the  colonel 's  door,  she 
caught  the  sound  of  his  tread  as  he  fairly  ran  to  and  fro. 

She  experienced  not  the  faintest  fear  of  him. 

**Let  him  run,  if  he  wants  to,''  she  thought. 


270  The  Song  of  Songs 

When  in  her  own  room,  she  heard  him  give  orders  to 
have  the  carriage  brought  around  immediately. 

**For  all  I  care,  he  may  stay  here.'* 

She  stepped  out  on  the  balcony. 

The  iciness  benumbing  her  neck  crept  into  her  arms 
and  spread  down  to  her  very  finger  tips. 

There  sat  Walter,  as  always  in  his  free  time  after  dinner, 
completely  absorbed  in  the  great  encyclopedia  of  agricul- 
ture, so  full  of  zeal  for  study  that  every  now  and  then  he 
would  pass  his  hand  through  his  hair  in  a  preoccupied  way 
and  without  looking  up — ^he  hadn't  so  much  time  to  spare, 
Heavens !  no ! — ^he  would  flick  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette 
into  a  flower  pot. 

In  the  face  of  this  infamous  game,  which  he  played  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  deceiving  her,  Lilly  was  seized  by  a 
wild,  infuriated  desire  to  denounce  him,  which  completely 
robbed  her  of  her  senses.  A  stinging  and  pricking  lifted 
her  paralysed  arms.  The  iciness  gave  way  to  a  painful 
fever,  which  throbbed  in  her  temples,  and  hung  a  red  cur- 
tain before  her  eyes. 

She  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing. 

She  rushed  down  the  staircase,  tore  open  the  garden 
door,  leapt  down  the  stone  steps,  and  ran  at  full  speed 
straight  across  the  lawn  to  the  lodge. 

Whether  someone  spied  her  or  not  she  did  not  care. 

The  door  to  his  room  banged  against  the  wall. 

She  had  not  stopped  to  knock. 

A  rank,  pungent  smell,  as  in  a  menagerie,  assailed  her 
nostrils. 

There  he  was,  sitting  at  the  window.  He  jumped  to  his 
feet.     The  grey  daylight  glided  over  his  head. 

**He's  had  his  hair  cut  brush  fashion  again,"  thought 
Lilly.  *'The  dissolute  life  he's  living  demands  it;  the 
eleejance  of  the  dives  demands  it." 


The  Song  of  Songs  271 

**Good  Lord!'*  he  said,  crumbling  his  burning  cigarette 
between  his  fingers,  **a  pretty  howdy-do!'' 

**Why — ?  Why  did  you — ?"  she  screamed  at  him. 
''You're  a  blackguard!  Your  word's  not  to  be  trusted! 
You're  a  liar!" 

"Confound  it!"  he  said,  and  looked  about  helplessly. 
**How  will  my  lady  get  out  of  this  mess?" 

"You  broke  your  promise — the  most  sacred  bond  uniting 
us.  You — you — threw  it  away  on  a  barmaid — a  barmaid, 
a  creature  who  would  hang  herself  on  anybody's  neck  for 
a  couple  of  pennies.  You're  a  vulgar  profligate!  You're 
not  worth  a  woman's  having  tried  to  save  you — you  don't 
want  to  be  saved — you  want  to  go  to  the  bad — " 

"All  very  good  and  fine,"  he  said,  "and  probably  very 
saddening  and  incontrovertible  truths;  but  will  my  lady 
please  explain  how  she  expects  to  get  out  of  here  ? ' ' 

"I  don 't  know  anything  I  am  more  indifferent  about, ' * 
she  cried.  "I  came  for  you  to  give  me  an  account  of 
yourself.  I  am  asking  you  to  answer  me — immediately — 
here — now — on  the  spot." 

"Certainly,  my  lady,  I  will  without  fail.  But  first — 
damn  it !  hell !     Get  away  from  the  window ! ' ' 

He  cast  a  sharp,  all-embracing  glance  at  the  castle. 
Nothing  suspicious  to  be  detected  at  that  moment,  at 
least. 

Alarmed  by  his  snarling  at  her  in  that  way,  Lilly  fled 
into  the  interior  of  the  room,  which  was  low,  dark,  and 
ill  furnished.  Here  the  vile  animal  gmell  was  still  strong- 
er. From  w^here  it  came  was  made  clear  to  her  the  next 
instant.  As  she  approached  the  rear  wall,  something  sud- 
denly snapped  at  her  foot,  and  two  little  circular  torches 
gleamed  up  at  her  wickedly. 

"Down,  Tommy!"  called  Von  Prell,  while  Lilly  re- 
coiled with  an  exclamation  of  fright. 


272  The  Song  of  Songs 

So  that  was  Tommy,  the  other  member  of  the  triple 
alliance. 

Lilly  leaned  against  the  arm  of  the  old  spindle-legged 
sofa.  Its  worn  springs  squeaked  under  her  pressure  and 
pricked  her  thumbs,  and  the  thought  flashed  into  her 
mind : 

''What  am  I  doing  here?     What  is  it  all  to  me?" 

Von  Prell  the  while  stepped  from  door  to  door  listen- 
ing. 

''If  that  old  Leichtweg  had  happened  to  be  in  the  next 
room,"  he  said,  "we  should  be  dying  a  dog's  death. 
But  if  you  go  this  instant,  the  front  way,  into  the  court- 
yard, they  might  suppose  you  had  come  to  ask  something, 
and  perhaps  we  can  patch  it  up  still." 

All  Lilly  perceived  in  his  words  was  a  sly  attempt  at 
evasion,  and  a  fresh  flood  of  indignation  overwhelmed 
her. 

"First  justify  yourself,"  she  cried.  "Until  you  do,  I 
won't  go  this  way,  or  that  way,  or  the  other  way." 

To  enforce  her  resolve  she  dropped  down  on  the  screech- 
ing sofa,  which  was  covered  with  a  dirty  grey  horseblanket 
folded  into  several  thicknesses  for  protection  against  the 
sharp  points  of  the  springs. 

He  was  compelled  to  yield. 

"Very  well,  then,  look  here — a  fellow's  a  human  being, 
isn't  he?  And  if  he's  given  the  go-by  in  that  common 
way — " 

"Common  way?"  faltered  Lilly.  "What  was  common 
in  my  letter?  Didn't  I  tear  my  heart  out  and  throw  it  at 
your  feet,  and  didn't  Miss  von  Schwertfeger — ?" 

She  could  not  continue.  Wrath  and  despair  choked 
her  utterance. 

In  the  meantime  Von  Prell,  who  at  first  had  been  at  a 
complete  loss,  arrived  at  the  proper  policy  to  adopt. 


The  Song  of  Songs  273 

**Yes,  that's  just  it,"  he  said,  growing  more  aggrieved 
with  each  word.  **Is  a  love  like  ours  to  be  concluded 
with  a  lukewarm  homily?  And  that  Schwertfeger — did  I 
deserve  being  dismissed  by  you  like  an  asthmatic  old  dog 
through  the  intermediation  of  a  third  person,  a  horrid, 
disgusting  creature?  Isn't  it  enough  to  make  a  man  des- 
perate after  all  he's  done  for  you?" 

**What — did  you — do  for  me?"  queried  Lilly. 

**Well — wasn't  I  a  self-sacrificing  comrade  the  whole 
time?  Wasn't  I  disloyal  even  to  my  old  colonel  for  your 
sake,  that  fine  old  gentleman,  who  saved  my  life,  you  might 
say?  You  see,  all  that's  no  small  matter.  Do  you  suppose 
it  didn't  cut  me  to  the  quick?  Do  you  suppose  I  didn't 
get  the  blues?  And  then  to  be  fooling  round  here  alone 
night  after  night  with  that  dung-beetle,  that  Tommy — the 
beast  smells,  I  tell  you.  So  why  not  try  to  dull  one's 
feelings?  Shouldn't  I — ^how  shall  I  say? — deaden  the 
anguish  of  lost  love?  Not  even  deaden  it?  It's  a  perfect 
mystery  to  me  how  you  can  demand  such  a  thing  of  me. 
We  speak  different  languages,  my  dear  child — there's  a 
yawning  chasm  dividing  our  natures — and  you're  even 
willing  to  risk  our  two  lives  for  such  mummery.  As  a 
rule,  I'm  not  an  old  aunt,  but  indeed,  if  only  I  had  you 
out  of  this  place." 

Throughout  this  long  speech  he  had  walked  about  Lilly 
in  a  semi-circle,  with  one  hand  thrust  in  the  belt  of  his 
Norfolk  jacket,  making  short,  jerky  steps,  which  force- 
fully expressed  his  righteous  indignation. 

Lilly  sat  on  the  sofa  stiffly  upright,  mechanically  turn- 
ing her  head  after  him  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left, 
and  staring  at  him  with  great,  uncomprehending  eyes. 

When  he  stopped  speaking,  he  drew  a  cigarette  from 
the  case  and  energetically  beat  off  the  superfluous  tobacco 
with  the  index  finger  of  his  left  hand. 


274  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  rose  in  all  her  height,  leaving  the  sofa  and  the 
table  next  to  the  sofa  far  below  her. 

*' Listen,  Walter,'*  she  said,  ''from  this  moment  every- 
thing between  us  is  at  an  end." 

**Why,  wasn't  it  long  ago?" 

**I  mean — inwardly,  too." 

**0h,  inwardly,  too!"  He  made  a  little  grimace. 
'*With  you  that  probably  means  if  you  have  something 
in  your  stomach." 

When  Lilly  saw  her  love  so  ridiculed  and  mutilated,  she 
could  no  longer  restrain  herself.  With  an  outcry  she  ran 
from  the  sofa,  and  hid  her  face — anywhere  at  all — on  the 
wall  next  to  the  window. 

'  *  Get  away  from  the  window ! ' '  she  heard  him  hiss. 

Oh,  what  did  she  care! 

In  the  extremity  of  his  fright  he  took  to  pleading. 

"Just  come  away  from  the  window,"  he  said.  **It 
was  all  mere  twaddle.  I  simply  wanted  to  make  you 
laugh  again,  nothing  more.  Please  come  away  from  the 
window. ' ' 

She  did  not  budge. 

To  crawl  off  somewhere!  To  crawl  away  and  hide  her- 
self and  all  her  shame. 

She  felt  his  hands  seize  her  rudely. 

That,  too !     To  suffer  violence,  too ! 

She  flung  him  off,  wrestled  with  him,  clawed  at  his 
neck — 

And  suddenly — 

A  whistling,  a  clash  and  clatter — shivers  of  glass  flew 
over  their  heads,  and  a  long,  dark  something,  like  the  shaft 
of  a  lance,  sped  past  them,  knocked  against  something,  re- 
bounded, and  fell  at  their  feet. 

The  same  instant  Lilly  felt  a  rush  of  cold  air  on  her 


The  Song  of  Songs  275 

forehead,  which  aroused  her  from  the  stupefaction  of 
surprise. 

One  of  the  two  upper  window  panes  had  been  broken. 

No  living  creature  was  to  be  seen.  But  the  balcony- 
door  yonder,  which  had  been  closed  a  moment  before,  now 
showed  a  dark  opening,  and  was  swinging  shut. 

**A  narrow  escape,"  murmured  Walter,  and  stooped  to 
pick  up  the  mysterious  thing  from  the  floor,  while  the 
fragments  of  glass  gritted  beneath  his  feet. 

"The  pea-shooter, '*  Lilly  faltered. 

**A  mercy  he  didn't  happen  to  have  his  fowling-piece 
at  hand,*'  said  Walter,  *'else  we'd  be  riddled  into  sieves." 

With  the  back  of  his  hand  he  wiped  away  the  sweat  of 
fright  standing  on  his  forehead  in  bright  beads. 

None  the  less  he  was  a  brave  little  chap,  and  knew  on 
the  instant  what  to  do. 

He  sprang  to  the  wardrobe  under  which  Tommy  had 
burrowed,  fetched  out  his  army  revolver,  ana  tested  all  its 
parts.     Then  he  said: 

**Now,  please  go  into  Leichtweg's  room,  and  lock  your- 
self in.  The  colonel's  simply  gone  to  load  his  gun.  Then 
he'll  be  here." 

But  Lilly  refused.  Her  wrath  against  him  had  com- 
pletely evaporated. 

**Let  me  stay  with  you,  let  me  stay  with  you!"  she 
begged,  clasping  his  shoulders. 

''Impossible,  child,"  he  replied,  with  the  old  masterful 
lift  to  his  brows.     ** What's  coming  is  men's  business." 

* '  Then  I  '11  stand  out  in  the  hall,  and  receive  him  at  your 
door." 

He  bit  his  lips. 

**Well,"  he  said,  **if  you  take  it  that  way,  I  can't  help 
myself.     Sit  down,  please." 


276  The  Song  of  Songs 

He  removed  the  key  from  the  outside  of  the  door,  stuck 
it  in  the  lock  on  the  inside  and  cautiously  turned  it  several 
times. 

"Between  loading  and  shooting,"  he  said  then,  ''there's 
a  great  big  difference — but  the  devil  knows." 

He  took  out  his  watch,  and  listened  intently  for  sounds 
from  the  outside,  while  he  counted,  ' '  a  half — one — one  and 
a  half — two.  Probably  can't  find  his  cartridges."  Then 
commandingly :  ''Do  sit  down.  You'll  need  your  legs 
to-day." 

Lilly  sank  in  one  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  he  seated 
himself  in  the  other,  placing  the  watch  between  them  on 
the  bumpy  seat.  Both  counted  now  with  their  eyes  fas- 
tened on  the  second  hand.  "Two  and  a  half — three — 
three  and  a  half — four — four  and  a  half — five  minutes." 

Not  a  sound,  save  the  wind  howling  in  the  bare  branches. 

Then  it  seemed  to  them  they  heard  the  trot  of  horses 
starting  in  the  courtyard  and  dying  away  on  the  other 
side  of  the  g^^^s. 

"Whom's  he  gone  to  fetch?"  asked  Walter.  "We're 
not  ready  for  seconds  yet. ' ' 

Red  suns  danced  before  Lilly's  eyes.  The  ceiling  began 
to  rise  and  sink. 

Walter  kept  on  counting. 

"Seven — eight — eight  and  a  half." 

Nothing. 

"Nine — nine  and  a  half — ten — "  Suddenly  he  emitted 
a  faint  whistle,  and  grasped  his  revolver. 

The  front  door  grated  on  its  hinges,  steps  resounded,  but 
not  the  threatening,  thundering  steps  of  a  vengeful  hus- 
band.    They  were  soft,  hesitating,  dragging  steps. 

Then  for  a  while  nothing  again — no  sound,  except  the 
breathing  of  two  persons — and  someone  else — on  the  other 
side  of  the  door,  it  seemed. 


The  Song  of  Songs  277 

''Who's  there?"  called  Walter. 

Now  came  a  knock. 

Soft,  broken,  as  if  of  trembling,  failing  fingers. 

*^ Who's  there,  in  the  devil's  name?"  he  called  again. 

**Anna  von  Schwertf eger. " 

He  jumped  up  and  opened  the  door. 

There  she  stood,  ashen-hued,  red  about  the  mouth,  her 
lids  quivering. 

**The  colonel  has  just  driven  off  to  Baron  von  Platow. 
He  will  return  in  three  hours.  He  charged  me  to  tell 
you,  Lilly,  that  when  he  comes  back  he  doesn't  want  to 
find  you  on  his  premises." 

**And  what  did  he  charge  you  to  tell  me?"  sneered 
Walter  von  Prell. 

Miss  von  Schwertfeger,  without  regarding  him,  took 
Lilly's  hand. 

**Come.    You  haven't  much  time.    We  must  pack." 

*'But — but  where  am  I  to  go?"  she  asked,  helplessly, 
suffering  herself  to  be  drawn  to  her  feet. 

When  she  got  to  the  door  of  the  lodge,  she  saw  the  car- 
riage that  was  to  convey  her  from  the  castle  already 
rolling  up  the  driveway. 


PART  II 

CHAPTEI^  I 

She  was  Lilly  Czepanek  again. 

In  the  divorce  proceedings  there  had  been  no  attempt  at 
dissimulation  or  concealment,  and  the  case  moved  along  rap- 
idly. Lilly  alone  was  found  guilty,  and,  upon  the  colonel 's 
deposition,  was  deprived  of  the  right  to  use  her  married 
name. 

** There  is  nothing  to  be  saved  from  the  ruins,'*  wrote 
Mr.  Pieper,  '*  except  the  jewels  which  I  hope  you  diligently 
accumulated  by  following  my  advice  and  standing  in  front 
of  fine  shop-windows.  The  pearl  necklace  your  ex-hus- 
band put  about  your  neck  on  your  wedding  day — owing 
in  part,  I  may  now  say,  to  my  suggestion — which  I  will  try 
to  get  back  for  you,  is  in  itself  sufficient  to  keep  your  head 
above  water  several  years.*' 

The  result  of  this  letter  was  that  Lilly  took  the  pearl 
necklace,  which  after  her  flight  she  had  found  in  one  of  her 
trunks  among  the  laces  and  evening  gowns,  carried  it  to 
a  jeweller,  had  him  pack  it  up,  and  addressed  it  to  Miss 
von  Schwertfeger. 

She  felt  justified  in  considering  the  less  valuable  trinkets 
to  be  her  personal  property.  She  had  already  disposed  of 
a  considerable  number  of  them,  and  what  was  left  would 
scarcely  suffice  for  more  than  half  a  year.     Then  poverty. 

But  her  material  condition  gave  her  little  concern. 

Her  regret  for  what  she  had  lost  was  too  profound,  her 
consciousness  of  the  shame  she  had  undergone  too  lively, 
but  that  her  future  should  not  have  been  hidden  from  her 
perceptions  behind  a  veil  of  tears. 

279 


280  The  Song  of  Songs 

Yes,  tears,  tears — oh,  she  learned  to  shed  tears. 

She  learned  to  swallow  tears  like  salt  sea  water;  she 
sucked  them  into  her  mouth  with  her  lower  lip  thrust  out, 
she  shook  them  from  her  cheeks  like  drops  of  rain.  And 
they  kept  welling  up  again,  finally  without  cause,  even 
after  the  pain  had  subsided — awake  or  asleep,  they  just 
came. 

She  had  gone  away  that  grey,  windy  December  day  just 
before  nightfall  in  a  trembling  state  of  stupefaction  with- 
out complaint,  without  attempts  at  self-justification. 

Gone  away  blindly — anywhere — simply  gone  away — ^in 
all  haste. 
P^      She  landed  in  Berlin,  the  haven  of  all  the  wrecked. 

In  that  world  where  oblivion  spreads  its  blessing  hands 
alike  over  the  righteous  and  unrighteous,  where  enticing 
possibilities  flash  and  sparkle,  illuminating  the  dark  days 
of  inertness  and  prostration,  where  regret  over  a  lost  past 
by  and  by  becomes  tense,  desirous  expectation  of  happiness, 
and  where  the  god  Chance  reigns  supreme — in  that  world 
of  the  unknown  and  forsaken,  in  which  none  but  those  who 
are  both  old  and  poor  sink  into  nothingness,  hopeless  out- 
laws— into  that  world  Lilly  crept. 

Many  a  dreary  month  she  knocked  about  in  lodging 
houses  where  divorcees  with  lost  reputations  huddle  to- 
gether, reminding  one  of  little  heaps  of  decaying  apples; 
where  the  tone  is  given  by  Chilian  attaches  and  agents 
of  mysterious  trades  from  Bucharest  and  Alexandria.  In 
a  friendly  way  she  avoided  the  confidences  of  compan- 
ions in  misery,  who  lavished  words  of  comfort,  and  with 
mute  disregard  repelled  the  advances — physical  advances 
as  well — of  her  enterprising,  olive-complexioned  neighbours. 

After  a  while  she  began  to  look  about  for  a  position — 
something  unique,  something  between  a  lady  in  waiting 


The  Song  of  Songs  281 

and  a  chaperon,  which  would  not  be  incongruous  with  her 
former  station  and  the  quiet  dignity  of  her  bearing. 

But  positions  of  that  sort  seemed  remarkably  scarce. 

And  all  she  reaped  of  her  endeavours  were  the  tender  at- 
tentions of  a  few  old  gentlemen  who  came  to  see  her  in 
the  evening,  and  could  not  find  their  way  out  again  until 
the  door  was  held  wide  open  for  them. 

Discouraged,  she  gave  up  going  to  employment  bureaus 
and  the  useless  ringing  of  front  door  bells.  But  her  ex- 
pectations had  not  yet  sunk  to  the  level  of  those  of  a  shop- 
girl or  model  in  a  dressmaking  establishment.  And  they 
never  would  sink  so  low,  because  *' general's  wife,"  as  she 
was  branded,  no  matter  where  she  went,  was  written  all 
over  her. 

In  that  seething  sea  of  humanity  she  tossed  about  with- 
out so  much  as  a  straw  to  clutch  at ;  except,  indeed,  Wal- 
ter *8  letter,  which  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  forwarded  to  her 
two  months  after  her  expulsion.  The  poor  boy  was  now 
completely  ruined.  Nevertheless,  his  letter  gave  proof  of  a 
modest  attempt  to  offer  her  some  support. 

** Dearest  Friend: — 

I*m  done  for.  I've  been  shot.  A  mere  trifle  when  it 
happens  to  others;  but  when  it  happens  to  oneself,  the 
consequence  is,  it  considerably  lessens  one's  hopes  of  en- 
tering upon  a  glorious  career  as  head  waiter  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic. 

Nevertheless  I  thank  fate  for  having  been  gracious 
enough  to  lead  across  my  path  so  good,  so  touching  a 
lamb,  one  so  filled  with  the  desire  to  redeem,  as  my  bar- 
onifisima. 

You  will  readily  understand,  0  dearest,  supergracious 
woman,  that  I  in  turn  also  feel  a  slight  obligation  to 


282  The  Song  of  «ongs 

play  the  redeemer,  if  only  to  preserve  our  souls  for  eacK 
other. 

But  ''the  how'*  presents  some  difficulties,  to  be  sure. 
If  I  were  to  recommend  you  to  the  care  of  my  former 
friends,  your  future  would  be  settled.  For  in  blissful 
hours  leaves  and  virtues  still  fall. 

Therefore  I  descend  a  step  to  those  regions  in  which  a 
sturdy  Philistinism  creeps  on  its  belly  before  our  coronets, 
even  when  those  coronets  lie  shattered  on  the  ground. 

In  Alte  Jakobstrasse  in  Berlin  there  dwells  a  respecta- 
ble manufacturer  of  bronze  ware,  a  comrade  of  the  re- 
serves, etc.,  by  name  Richard  Dehnicke,  who  feels  he  is  in- 
debted to  me  because  I  pumped  him  for  coin. 

I  am  writing  to  him  by  this  mail.  Step  boldly  in  among 
his  lamps  and  vases.  The  former,  I  hope,  will  brighten 
your  nights,  the  latter,  daintily  line  your  way  in  life,  and 
he  will  not  ask  the  price  which  it  is  the  custom  in  our 
country  to  demand  of  beautiful  women.  Some  queer  fish 
there  have  to  be  in  the  world. 

My  address  will  be 

Walter  von  Prell, 

Street-lounger  &  Candidate  for  Fortune, 

Chicago,  First  Stockyard  to  the  Left. 

P.  S. — Tommy  sends  his  regards.  Before  going  I 
planted  a  ball  in  his  forehead." 

This  letter,  the  last  and  only  greeting  from  her  friend, 
left  Lilly  untouched.  Soon  after,  Miss  von  Schwertfeger 
wrote,  he  set  sail  for  the  United  States  with  a  crippled 
arm.  Their  love  had  deserved  an  honourable  burial,  even 
if  its  rapture  had  not  been  genuine,  even  if  its  lofty  pur- 
pose had  set  in  dirt  and  disgrace. 


The  Song  of  Songs  283 

**If  only  to  preserve  our  souls  for  each  other,"  he  had 
written,  the  dear  little  fellow. 

The  letter,  however,  o^ered  a  certain  guarantee  that  in 
her  hour  of  need,  a  helping  hand  would  be  stretched  out 
to  steady  her.  But  the  measure  he  recommended,  she 
never,  never  thought  of  adopting.  What  she  feared  above 
all  was  that  something  which  emanated  from  the  eyes  of 
men  fixed  upon  her  face  in  desire,  that  something  which 
issued  from  men's  lips  persuasively,  masterfully. 

She  wanted  to  keep  her  fate  in  her  own  hands  and  go 
her  own  way. 

What  that  way  was  to  be,  she  had  not  yet  determined. 

So  irresolute  had  sorrow  and  anxiety  made  her  that 
nothing  but  a  faint  breeze  would  have  been  required  to 
head  her  life  in  a  certain  direction. 

But  no  breeze  blew  upon  her. 

Months  passed.  Miss  von  Schwertfeger  ceased  to  write. 
Lilly's  money  gave  out.  The  little  treasure  of  trink- 
ets dwindled  rapidly. 

The  lodging  houses  to  which  she  moved  grew  ever  more 
modest.  Chilian  attaches  and  Greek  trafficers  were  re- 
placed by  bankrupt  real  estate  agents  and  unemployed 
bank  clerks,  who  wanted  to  solace  her  in  her  loneliness 
by  spending  the  evenings  with  her.  And  the  women  who 
came  in  soiled  kimonos  to  pay  her  neighbourly  visits  cast 
greedy  glances  at  the  few  brooches,  bracelets  and  rings 
she  still  had  left. 

So  Lilly  determined  to  make  an  end  of  this  life. 


CHAPTER  II 

One  of  the  best  of  the  **best  rooms"  in  Berlin  which 
are  to  be  found  in  houses  having  once  known  those  re- 
nowned better  days  and  which  are  let  out  to  decent  young 
women  for  thirty  marks,  including  service  and  breakfast, 
was  to  be  had  from  the  widow  Clothilde  Laue. 

It  contained  red  plush  furniture,  which  embodied  the 
acme  of  good  taste  at  the  time  of  the  Franco-Pinissian  War. 
It  contained  a  pier  glass  fantastically  stuck  from  top 
to  bottom  with  New  Year's  cards,  cards  of  congratulation, 
and  illustrated  advertisements  of  soaps  and  powders.  It 
contained  photographs  on  the  walls  of  actors  once  famous, 
whose  fame  in  the  meantime  had  faded  no  less  than  the 
autographs  they  had  written  beneath  their  pictures.  It 
contained  a  washstand,  whose  marble  top  was  covered  with 
a  tidy  embroidered  with  the  sententious  couplet: 

To  keep  your  body  clean,  be  sure 
To  have  your  conscience  just  as  pure. 

It  contained  photograph  albums,  card-cases,  a  cigar  clip 
in  the  shape  of  a  windmill  of  olive  wood,  a  green  glass 
punch  bowl,  and  a  shaky  pine  bed  modestly  hidden  be- 
hind blue  woolen  portieres. 

It  contained,  finally,  hung  over  the  sofa  in  a  gilt-edged 
glass  case,  a  mysterious  round  creation.  The  thing  con- 
sisted of  six  strips  of  paper  braided  together  and  radiating 
from  a  common  centre.  It  was  covered  with  gauze,  be- 
neath which  the  outline  of  pressed  flowers  could  dimly  be 
distinguished. 

It  was  in  this  best  room  on  Neanderstrasse,  four  flights 

284 


The  Song  of  Songs  285 

up,  over  a  china  shop,  a  piano-renting  establishment,  and 
a  *' repair  studio,"  from  the  windows  of  which  room  an 
oblique  view  was  to  be  obtained  of  the  greenish  grey 
waves  of  the  Engelbecken,  and  into  which  a  broad  ex- 
panse of  genuine  Berlin  smoky  sky  actually  shone,  that 
Lilly  one  day  landed, 

Mrs.  Laue  was  a  woman  of  fifty,  worn  out  by  overwork, 
with  a  face  like  a  dried  apple,  and  great  staring,  tearful 
eyes.  She  circled  about  Lilly  in  incredulous  admiration, 
as  if  unable  to  comprehend  that  so  much  brilliance  and 
beauty  had  strayed  into  her  home. 

The  very  day  of  her  arrival  Lilly  was  informed  of  her 
history.  Her  husband  had  been  cashier  and  bookkeeper  at 
one  of  the  favorite  variety  theatres  in  Berlin,  and  twenty 
years  before  had  departed  this  world,  leaving  her  without 
home  or  protection.  There  was  no  rosy  glamour  to  glorify 
tears  wept  in  solitude,  no  comic  songs  to  drown  the  cry 
of  hunger. 

Here  that  mysterious  round  creation,  which  on  closer  in- 
spection proved  to  be  a  lamp  shade,  came  to  her  rescue.  It 
had  been  presented  to  her  by  an  artistic  friend,  and  it 
occurred  to  her  to  use  it  as  a  model  for  making  others 
to  sell. 

After  peddling  her  wares  about  for  years,  after  long 
drudgery  and  disenchantments  of  all  sorts,  she  at  last  con- 
quered a  market  for  her  **pressed-flower  lamp  shades,"  and 
won  for  herself  a  name  as  specialist  in  her  field. 

In  her  back  room  with  one  window,  which  smelled  of 
hay  and  paste,  and  where  hundreds  of  dried  flowers  lay 
on  a  long  white  deal  table — she  herself  did  not  gather  them, 
of  course,  for  lack  of  time — she  had  worked  for  nearly 
two  decades  tapping,  daubing,  pasting,  drying,  threading, 
and  weaving  sixteen  hours  a  day,  and  had  earned — thanks 
to  her  renown  as  a  specialist ! — so  much  that  she  was  com- 


286  The  Song  of  Songs 

pelled  to  rent  her  best  room,  her  treasure  chamber,  her 
sanctuary,  to  a  stranger  for  thirty  marks  a  month. 

Lilly  and  Mrs.  Laue,  it  is  true,  did  not  remain  strangers. 

Into  the  existence  of  this  back-room  being,  in  whose  eyes 
a  few  betinseled  ballet-dancers  were  paragons  of  beauty, 
the  embodiment  of  unattainable  splendour,  Lilly  descended 
from  the  world  of  genuine  aristocracy  as  from  heavenly 
heights.  Her  hostess  idolised  her,  because  she  saw  in  her  a 
messenger  from  that  wholly  improbable  land  which  exists 
only  in  novels,  and  in  which  words  like  *' lackey"  and 
** drawing-room, "  and  ** pearl  necklace" — Lilly  soon  told 
Mrs.  Laue  of  hers — and  other  such  things  as  one  allows  to 
melt  on  one's  tongue  with  half -closed  eyes,  are  taken  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

Mrs.  Laue  immediately  became  Lilly's  confidante  and 
counsellor.  She  helped  her  overcome  the  shame  conse- 
quent upon  the  divorce  trial,  she  encouraged  her  when  the 
feeling  of  being  lost  unnerved  her,  and  she  held  before  her 
eyes  the  prospect  of  a  radiant  future. 

In  great,  powerful,  wonder-working  Berlin,  nobody  need 
succumb.  Every  day  a  dozen  lucky  chances  might  occur 
to  help  one  to  one's  feet.  There  were  lonely  old  ladies 
who  were  desperately  seeking  heiresses  for  their  fortunes, 
there  were  noble  young  women  who,  disgusted  with  the 
artificiality  of  their  surroundings,  helplessly  yearned  to 
reach  out  the  hand  of  companionship  to  a  beautiful  poor 
orphan ;  there  were  celebrated  artists  who  sought  to  escape 
the  snares  of  lewd  women  in  the  arms  of  a  pure  love; 
there  were  great  poets  with  whom  the  position  of  muse 
had  become  vacant. 

The  whole  city  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for  Lilly's 
coming  to  lift  her  jubilantly  to  the  throne  of  mistress. 

More  months  passed. 

Regret  for  her  squandered  life  gradually  lost  its  edge. 


The  Song  of  Songs  287 

Her  nights  became  calmer.  She  no  longer  started  out  of 
a  drowse  with  a  cry  because  some  picture  of  her  paradise 
lost  stood  before  her  with  horrible  vividness. 

But  one  thing  she  did  not  learn:  to  consider  the  brief 
span  during  which  she  had  wandered  on  the  heights  as  a 
mere  episode  that  had  interrupted  her  true,  modest  life  like 
a  caprice,  a  dream.  In  her  consciousness  she  was  and 
remained  a  sort  of  enchanted  princess  in  the  guise  of  a 
beggar  until  it  pleased  Providence  to  reinstate  her  in  her 
own. 

She  solicitously  cherished  everything  reminding  her  of 
her  vanished  glory. 

The  gala  robes  the  colonel  had  had  made  for  her  in  Dres- 
den hung  in  Mrs.  Laue's  wardrobe;  her  underwear  em- 
broidered with  the  seven-pointed  coronet  filled  Mrs. 
Laue^s  empty  drawers  with  their  blossom-like  delicacy, 
and  in  a  long  row  in  front  of  the  tall  mirror  in 
Mrs.  Laue^s  best  room  lay  the  superb  toilet  articles  of 
ivory  and  gold  which  had  once  been  the  pride  of  her 
** boudoir.'*  These,  too,  still  bore  the  seven-pointed  coro- 
net. Lilly  would  have  considered  it  an  outrage  upon  her 
most  sacred  rights  had  she  had  to  part  with  them. 

And  all  the  time  she  awaited  the  future.  She  still 
studied  advertisements,  and  wrote  letters  applying  for 
positions;  but  the  advertisements  were  usually  forgotten 
and  the  letters  seldom  mailed. 

However,  feeling  the  need  of  occupation  and  compan- 
ionship, she  got  into  the  habit  of  sitting  with  Mrs.  Laue 
in  the  back  room  and  helping  her  with  her  work.  Soon 
she,  too,  w^as  tapping,  pasting,  daubing,  threading,  and 
weaving  just  like  her  teacher.  Having  inherited  taste 
and  talent  for  everything  artistic  she  soon  outstripped  Mrs. 
Laue.  After  having  sold  the  shades  Mrs.  Laue  would 
relate  without  envy  how  the  patterns  she  designed  and 


288  The  Song  of  Songs 

set    together    were    instantly    recognised    and    preferred, 

Lilly's  ambition  was  aroused.  She  strove  to  create 
works  of  art.     She  could  not  toil  enough. 

**If  you  wouldn't  fool  such  a  time  over  every  little 
spray,"  was  Mrs.  Lane's  criticism,  *'you  would  make  more 
money  than  I  do."  After  each  transaction  Mrs.  Laue 
honestly  settled  accounts  with  Lilly. 

But  Lilly  was  satisfied  with  the  forty  or  fifty  marks 
a  month  that  her  work  brought  in.  Her  newly  aroused 
fancy  flew  toward  higher  goals. 

The  dried  grasses,  the  ''grass  flowers,"  as  Mrs.  Laue 
called  them,  charmed  her  especially.  Their  slender,  as- 
piring stalks,  the  delicate  grace  of  their  branchings,  the 
weary  mourning  of  their  hanging  sprays,  caused  them  to 
resemble  tiny  trees,  weeping  willows  at  the  edge  of  a 
brook,  ash-trees  inclining  over  marble  urns,  or  palms  long- 
ingly rooted  on  parched  rocks. 

Lilly  dreamed  of  a  new  sort  of  art — paintings  on  trans- 
parent glass  with  foregrounds  of  dried  grass;  lamp  shades 
and  window  shades,  on  which  woods  of  flowering  grass  and 
ferns  charmingly  shaded  pasteboard  houses  standing  out 
in  relief  with  their  windows  cut  out  to  let  light  shine  as 
if  from  within;  fleecy  clouds,  glowing  sunsets,  ridges  of 
hills  in  hazy  outline,  and  dark  blue  rivers,  across  which 
the  moon  threw  swaying  bridges  of  light. 

An  endless  succession  of  pictures  suddenly  took  form  in 
Lilly's  mind,  and  new  ones  kept  coming  and  coming.  She 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  all  that  wealth  of  imagery. 

Mrs.  Laue,  who  for  twenty  years  had  unswervingly  stuck 
to  pasting  her  oiled  paper  and  felt  that  every  desire  to 
abandon  her  modest  work  was  heretical,  warned  Lilly  with 
all  her  might. 

But  Lilly  was  possessed. 

And  one  day  she  resorted  to  extreme  measures.     She 


The  Song  of  Songs  289 

took  her  arrow-shaped  brooch  set  with  six  small  emeralds 
to  the  jeweler,  who  gave  her  eighty  marks.  It  was  worth 
five  times  as  much,  of  course.  She  used  the  money  to 
buy  polished  cut-glass  plates,  which  were  held  together 
in  pairs  by  brass  screws  and  could  be  hung  at  the  window 
hy  dainty  chains.  She  also  purchased  a  box  of  paints, 
and  while  Mrs.  Laue  clasped  her  hands  in  dismay,  she  set 
^o  painting  bravely. 

But  her  skill,  which  consisted  of  nothing  more  than 
some  recollections  of  water-color  lessons  at  high  school, 
failed  her  utterly.  The  colors  ran  together,  and  the  woods 
in  the  foreground,  which  had  significance  and  value  only 
in  conjunction  with  the  painted  landscape,  remained  noth- 
ing but  fern  leaves  and  grass  blades,  rooted  in  nothingness, 

Lilly  agonised  a  long  time.  Finally  shedding  hot  tears 
she  threw  all  the  stuff  into  a  corner,  and  ruefully  returned 
to  her  lamp  shades.  She  again  took  to  pasting  oiled  paper 
wings  and  weaving  six  of  them  together  with  white  silk 
ribbons. 

Mrs.  Laue,  who  during  the  weeks  of  Lilly's  truancy  had 
maintained  glum  silence,  took  again  to  depicting  seductive 
futures.  All  the  fancies  that  had  been  held  fast  in  her 
poor  brain  for  twenty  long  years  were  set  free,  now  that 
she  herself  had  nothing  to  hope  for,  and  were  laid  in  Lilly's 
outstretched  hands. 

As  for  Lilly,  she  continued  to  listen  greedily;  but  a 
feeling  began  to  oppress  her  soul  that  as  her  life  went  on — 
that  which  she  called  life — she  was  sinking  slowly,  almost 
imperceptibly,  but  deeper,  deeper  every  day  into  this  dark, 
sorry  existence;  and  she  was  tormented  by  a  horror  of  her 
landlady,  of  that  limited  human  being  in  whose  great, 
watery,  red-rimmed  eyes  a  hopeless  desire  for  life's  attrac- 
tions still  shone,  although  her  lamp  shades  had  brought  her 
nearly  to  the  edge  of  the  grave. 


290  The  Song  of  Songs 

This  horror  often  came  upon  Lilly  so  powerfully  that 
she  had  to  run  out  of  doors,  no  matter  where — out  into 
the  world,  into  the  arms  of  life. 

Before  an  hour  had  elapsed  she  was  back  again.  The 
streets  frightened  her.  The  painted  prostitutes  who 
brushed  her  shoulders,  the  young  fellows  hunting  for  game 
who  trotted  behind  her,  the  unconcerned  brazenness  with 
which  each  and  every  one  elbowed  his  way — all  this  filled 
her  with  apprehension  and  made  a  coward  of  her. 

A  dim  feeling  told  her  she  would  never  again  be  equal 
to  that  lusty  independence  which  takes  pleasure  in  fight. 
She  seemed  to  herself  a  helpless  cripple,  when  she  remem- 
bered the  poor  shop-girl  who  in  cozy  security  performed 
her  duties  among  Mrs.  Asmussen's  old  volumes,  and  felt 
she  was  in  the  right  even  when  she  lied  and  deceived  and 
was  beaten  and  obviously  was  in  the  wrong. 

Then  the  waiting — ^the  waiting — the  never-sleeping,  ever- 
hungry  waiting. 

For  what?    She  herself  did  not  know. 

But  something  had  to  come.  Her  life  could  not  end 
here  among  those  bits  of  oiled  paper. 

From  time  to  time  the  thought  of  the  rich  bronze  man- 
ufacturer to  whom  Walter  had  recommended  her  rose  to 
the  surface  of  her  soul  as  a  vague  craving.  But  the  fervor 
with  which  she  clung  to  this  shadow  terrified  her,  and  she 
instantly  chased  it  from  her  mind. 

A  y«ar  had  passed  since  Walter's  letter  had  been  writ- 
ten.    It  was  much  too  late  to  seek  help  from  him. 

So  she  waited  a  few  months  more. 

Sometimes  when  her  glance  fell  on  the  mirror  while  she 
was  undressing  and  she  beheld  the  image  of  a  human  being 
consecrated  by  beauty,  round,  slim,  with  long-lashed,  yearn- 
ing eyes  and  a  mouth  ripened  by  kisses,  glad  astonish- 
ment seized  her  at  the  thought:    **Is  that  myself?*'    And  I 


The  Song  of  Songs  291 

she  was  overcome  by  a  transport  compounded  of  conscious- 
ness of  her  youth  and  readiness  for  love. 

The  world  was  there  just  to  press  her  to  its  heart.  Then 
even  that  dingy  work-a-day  existence  became  a  blessing, 
because  it  keyed  up  her  energies  to  intoxication  and 
flight. 

And  at  twilight,  when  she  stretched  herself  on  the  sofa 
in  a  brief  moment  of  leisure,  and  saw  the  blue  flash  of  the 
electric  tram  flit  across  the  ceiling,  dreams  came  gently 
gliding  upon  her,  resolving  that  burning  expectancy  into 
soft,  half -fulfilled  desires;  a  feeling  that  she  had  been 
saved  stole  over  her  soul  like  a  thanksgiving,  and  that 
which  she  usually  bewailed  as  lost  happiness  became  noth- 
ing more  than  a  nightmare  from  which  a  benign  destiny 
had  freed  her. 

But  such  hours  were  rare.  And  they  resembled  the  sol- 
acing mirage  that  arises  before  the  eyes  of  the  thirsty 
traveller,  rather  than  the  drink  itself. 

The  winter  passed  in  fog  and  rain. 

Now  came  the  mild  March  evenings  when  rosy  clouds 
floated  like  blossoms  over  the  house  tops.  Then  came 
spring  itself.  The  freshly  trimmed  little  trees  on  the  open 
places  put  forth  brownish  green  buds,  which  by  degrees 
turned  into  pale  bunches  of  leaves. 

Lilly  saw  as  little  of  all  that  glad  bourgeoning,  that 
snowy  florescence  of  cherry  trees,  that  brilliant  glow  of 
the  hawthorne  as  when  she  dusted  the  yellow  powder  from 
Mrs.  Asmussen's  bookcases. 

Mrs.  Laue  did  not  like  taking  walks.  To  her  the  idea 
of  passing  a  meadow  without  gathering  flowers,  or  a  gar- 
den without  thrusting  her  hand  between  the  rails,  was  in- 
conceivable;  and  she  feared  being  caught  in  the  act,  an 
experience  she  had  often  had. 


292  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  for  her  part  would  not  venture  out  alone,  dreading 
the  unrestrained  crowd. 

Then  came  those  hot,  hazy,  oppressive  Sunday  after- 
noons when  endless  throngs  stream  from  the  city  to  the 
suburbs,  when  the  streets  lie  stretched  out  dead  in  all  their 
length,  and  when  the  overcast  heavens  fairly  weigh  upon 
those  who  have  been  left  to  pant  between  the  walls  of  the 
houses. 

On  those  afternoons  Mrs.  Laue  would  stick  genuine 
rhinestone  studs  into  her  ears,  would  don  a  brown  vel- 
vet dress  with  a  black  jet  collar  on  the  square-cut  neck, 
and  in  this  costume  would  pay  Lilly  a  formal  visit  in  the 
best  room.  The  Dresden  gowns  would  be  taken  from  the 
wardrobe  and  carefully  compared  with  the  gorgeous  dresses 
worn  by  the  charming  ladies  of  the  proscenium  box  twenty- 
five  years  before.  The  faded  pictures  of  long-forgotten 
stars  would  be  fetched  down  from  the  walls  and  exam- 
ined as  to  their  charms.  Exciting  tales  would  be  told  of 
their  own  adventures,  in  which,  amid  blithe  sinning,  mar- 
ital fidelity  asserted  its  modest  worth. 

The  afternoon  would  decline  pale  and  perspiring  as  a 
fever  patient.  A  hot  breeze  would  blow  in  through  the 
window.  The  varnish  of  the  rosewood  furniture  would 
reek,  the  walls  of  the  houses  opposite  would  shine  as  if 
polished  with  wax,  and  Mrs.  Laue,  munching  her  cheese 
cake,  would  again  repeat  the  tale  of  her  stale  virtues. 

When  at  last  she  took  leave  Lilly  would  groan  and  sink 
on  her  bed,  burying  her  face  in  the  close-smelling  pillows. 
From  without  she  would  hear  the  shouts  of  the  merry- 
makers returning  from  the  country. 

The  next  morning  the  pasting  of  flowers  would  begin 
anew. 

'July  came.     She  could  no  longer  endure  it. 

One  Monday,  while  she  was  lying  in  bed  and  early 


The  Song  of  Songs  293 

dawn  found  her  still  awake,  still  waiting,  her  pillow  wet 
with  tears,  the  desire  for  life  suddenly  gripped  her  heart 
so  strongly  that  she  jumped  from  bed  with  an  outcry,  a 
jubilant  exclamation,  and  finally  determined :  * '  I  will  do 
it  to-day.  I  will  take  the  difficult  step,  and  go  on  a  begging 
pilgrimage  to  that  strange  man/' 

But  no — mercy,  no !  Beg — she  would  not  beg.  Oh,  she 
had  long  before  carefully  arranged  all  that. 

She  would  merely  ask  for  a  bit  of  advice,  which  an  ex- 
perienced connoisseur  of  arts  and  crafts  could  easily  give 
without  sacrificing  more  than  five  minutes  of  his  business 
time.  She  would  simply  find  out  from  him  how  and  where 
she  could  learn  transparency-painting. 

Whatever  his  answer,  the  foundations  of  a  new  life 
would  have  been  laid. 


CHAPTER  III 

Was  it  a  path  of  destiny? 

The  street  wore  its  usual  appearance.  Truck  waggons 
rattled  along;  women  doing  their  marketing  crowded  in 
front  of  the  provision  shops;  young  men,  hastening  by 
with  portfolios  or  books  in  their  arms  found  time  to  turn 
and  look  after  her.  Lilly  perceived  this  as  always  with 
a  sense  partly  of  satisfaction,  partly  of  chagrin. 

Was  it  a  path  of  destiny? 

The  throbbing  of  her  heart  as  she  walked  along  said 
to  her,  **Yes.'' 

.  She  felt  she  was  going  to  market  to  sell  herself. 

Herself — everything  left  of  herself;  her  bit  of  pride, 
her  bit  of  freedom,  her  faith  that  she  was  one  of  the  elect, 
her  faith  in  the  miracle  that  some  day  was  to  be  accom- 
plished in  her  behalf. 

The  walk  lasted  nearly  an  hour. 

She  lost  her  way.     She  asked  the  policemen.     She  stood 

in  front  of  shop  windows  to  look  at  her  reflection — she 

/vas  afraid  of  not  pleasing.    And  each  time  she  saw  the 

,  3oft,  slim  contour  of  her  tall  figure  with  its  air  of  pleasant 

(  self-sufficiency,  she  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

When  she  read  the  name  of  the  street  where  he  dwelt, 
she  started  in  fright.  She  had  secretly  hoped  she  would 
not  find  it,  and  would  have  to  return  after  all. 

His  house  presented  nothing  remarkable.  A  grey,  four- 
story  structure  with  a  broad,  unadorned  square  carriage 
entrance,  across  the  full  width  of  which  was  a  scaffolding 

294 


The  Song  of  Songs  295 

Liebert  &  Dehnicke 
Manufacturers  of  Metal  Wares, 

was  inscribed  in  gold  characters  on  an  enormous  iron 
plate  stretching  along  half  the  front  of  the  house. 

From  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  she  scrutinised  every 
detail,  still  oppressed  by  the  question  whether  she  had  not 
better  turn  back. 

The  second  story  windows  were  closely  hung  with  dainty 
ecru  lace  curtains.  On  the  sills  were  snowy  white  porce- 
lain pots  filled  with  geraniums  and  marigolds.  That  part 
of  the  house  looked  better  kept  and  more  prosperous  than 
everything  round  about. 

** That's  probably  where  he  lives,"  she  thought,  and  felt 
a  slight  dread  in  the  face  of  so  much  serene  yet  severe 
beauty. 

Then  she  took  heart,  crossed  the  street,  and  made  straight 
for  the  door  with  iron  grill  work,  which  was  next  to  the 
carriage  entrance  and  seemed  to  lead  up  to  that  awe-inspir- 
ing second  story. 

But  the  door  was  locked,  and  before  ringing  she  peeped 
through  the  grating.  She  saw  a  dark  staircase  solemnly 
lined  with  cypress  trees  and  laurel  bushes.  In  the  back- 
ground at  the  head  of  the  stairs  was  a  window  glowing 
blue  and  red  and  throwing  rainbow  colors  on  a  white  bust 
in  front  of  it.  Lilly  recognized  the  bust,  having^  seen  it 
in  the  display  windows  of  the  art  shops.  It  was  Clytie, 
whom  she  had  always  loved  because  of  her  gentle  melan- 
choly. 

As  she  looked  upon  all  this  her  heart  sank  again.  She 
seemed  to  herself  totally  unworthy  to  step  into  those  for- 
mal, peaceful  regions.  So  she  descended  the  three  door 
steps  and  entered  the  profaner  carriage  entrance,  where 


296  The  Song  of  Songs 

several  labourers  in  white  overalls  were  busily  engaged  cov- 
ering the  bare  brick  walls  with  highly  veined  marble 
stucco. 

Men  were  at  work  in  the  yard  as  well.  The  round  cob- 
ble stones  with  which  it  had  once  been  paved  were  lying 
in  heaps,  and  the  ground  was  being  covered  with  an  ornate 
mosaic,  of  a  light  grey  broken  by  white  swirls  and  circles, 
like  the  flooring  in  ancient  churches. 

At  the  back  of  the  yard  rose  the  bald  brick  side  of  the 
factory,  which  also  was  undergoing  changes  in  accordance 
with  the  general  beautifying  scheme.  Up  to  about  the 
second  story  the  wall  was  being  set  with  yellow  and  blue 
tiles.  They  looked  gay  and  festive,  and  upon  the  comple- 
tion of  the  repairs  the  old  smoky  court  would  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  decorated  salon. 

*' They 're  doing  things  here  in  great  style/'  thought 
Lilly,  growing  even  more  timid. 

To  her  left  in  a  corner  of  the  court  she  saw  a  building 
to  which  not  a  drop  of  the  varnish  being  used  on  the  other 
parts  of  the  establishment  had  been  applied.  It  stood 
there  with  bare,  dun-colored  plastered  walls.  Next  to  an 
extremely  plain  flight  of  iron  steps  was  a  metal  plate  in- 
scribed "  Office. '^ 

Lilly  went  up  the  iron  steps  and  entered  a  badly  lighted, 
dusty  room  divided  in  two  by  a  wooden  rail,  on  the  farther 
side  of  which  a  half  dozen  young  people  were  sitting  at 
desks  covered  with  spotted,  threadbare  felt.  They  all 
stared  at  her  in  astonishment.  It  did  not  occur  to  one  of 
them  to  ask  her  what  she  wanted. 

Evidently  a  person  like  herself  had  never  before  been 
seen  in  the  place. 

The  group  was  turned  to  stone  and  did  not  regain  ani- 
mation until  she  drew  her  card  from  her  gold  brocade 
purse  and  silently  laid  it  on  the  table.    Then  the  six  of 


The  Song  of  Songs  297 

them  jumped  up  and  tried  to  get  possession  of  it.  There 
came  rear  being  a  row. 

But  one  of  them,  a  tall,  straw-complexioned  fellow,  who 
seemed  to  have  some  authority,  chased  the  others  back  to 
their  seats  with  a  few  furtive  nudges,  and  bowing  and 
scraping,  said  to  Lilly  he  would  immediately  go  see  whether 
Mj*.  Dehnicke — and  with  the  card  in  his  hand  disappeared 
into  a  back  room. 

A  few  moments  passed.  Lilly  could  hear  subdued  voices 
through  the  half-open  door. 

'*Czepanek?  Don't  know  her.  Ask  her  what  she 
wants.    What  does  she  look  like?" 

The  answer,  which  lasted  several  seconds,  seemed  to  have 
been  satisfactory,  for  the  clerk  came  out  and  without 
further  ado  opened  the  gate  in  the  Wooden  railing  and 
ushered  Lilly  into  the  back  room. 

At  last  he  stood  before  her. 

Stocky,  middle-sized — shorter  than  herself — with  a  ten- 
dency toward  stoutness.  A  round,  well-kept  face,  good, 
greyish  blue  eyes,  which  said  little;  an  arched  brow,  light 
brown  hair  brushed  back  smooth  from  his  temples,  a  short 
moustache  turned  up  abruptly  at  each  end,  probably  to 
proclaim  the  lieutenant.  Eemarkably  small  hands  and 
ears.  Everything  about  him  breathed  tidiness  and  scrupu- 
lousness, though  it  would  not  have  mattered  if  he  had  been 
less  well  groomed. 

He  was  taken  aback  at  Lilly's  entrance.  His  eyes  grew 
round  with  polite  astonishment. 

The  consciousness  that  she  had  not  failed  to  make  an 
impression  emboldened  her,  and  gave  her  a  sense  of  se- 
curity. It  was  not  in  vain  that  she  had  gone  through  Miss 
von  Sehwertfeger's  schooling. 

**I  have  come  to  you  at  the  recommendation  of  a  friend 
of  both  of  us,  who  prepared  you  for  this  visit,"  she  began, 


296  The  Song  of  Songs 

inwardly  rejoiced  to  be  able  once  again  to  play  the  grande 
dame. 

A  mirror  hung  opposite,  and  Lilly  regarded  with  satis- 
faction the  discreet  wreath  of  violets  about  her  lilac  tur- 
ban, and  the  violet-coloured  tailor-made  suit.  Her  image 
looking  affably  from  the  frame  reminded  her  of  a  picture 
by  some  portrait  painter  of  high  life. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  silently  drew  up  a  chair  for  her.  An  ex- 
pectant distrust  was  to  be  detected  in  his  eyes  in  place  of 
the  consternation  of  the  first  seconds.  Evidently  he  did 
not  dare  to  place  her  in  the  class  in  which,  to  judge  from 
her  appearance,  she  belonged. 

His  head  was  set  a  bit  obliquely  on  his  neck,  inclining  to 
the  left,  as  if  he  had  recently  had  an  attack  of  lumbago. 
This  posture  increased  Lilly's  impression  that  he  suspected 
her. 

She  looked  down  at  her  brocade  purse,  and  acted  as  if 
she  could  scarcely  suppress  a  smile. 

He  became  still  more  confused. 

**May  I  ask,*'  he  stammered,  **who  that  friend — ?  I 
don't  recall."  In  perplexity  he  turned  over  the  visiting 
card  his  clerk  had  brought  him. 

Lilly  rebelled  at  having  to  utter  her  former  lover's  name, 
and  so  expose  her  shame  to  the  man  who  lived  behind  those 
respectable  porcelain  flower  pots. 

**Is  it  possible,"  she  asked  hesitatingly,  *'that  you  do 
not  recall  having  received  a  letter  from  a  comrade  in  your 
regiment,  in  which  he  asks  you  to  interest  yourself  in  a 
lady  who — " 

Mr.  Dehnicke  jumped  to  his  feet  and  reddened  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair.  His  eyes  grew  bright  and  round  between 
his  stretched  lids  and  threatened  to  pop  from  their  sockets. 

**I  beg  pardon,"  he  faltered.     **You  probably  refer  to 


The  Song  of  Songs  299 

a  letter  which  I  received  nearly  a  year  and  a  half  ago  from 
Lieutenant  von  PrellT' 
''Ido.'^ 

**My  lady,"  he  cried,  completely  upset.  **If  I  had  sus- 
pected that  my  lady — " 

So  much  simple  respect  was  depicted  on  his  face  that 
Lilly's  consciousness  of  aristocracy  was  heightened  quite  a 
bit. 

But  so  it  could  not  remain. 

**I  call  myself  Lilly — Czepanek,"  she  whispered,  blush- 
ing in  her  turn,  though  delighting  in  the  expression  **call 
myself,'*  which  permitted  the  assumption  that  she  had 
voluntarily  chosen  to  use  her  maiden  name. 

Fright  at  the  indelicacy  of  which  he  thought  himself 
guilty  was  plainly  to  be  read  in  his  features. 

**I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  **I  should  have  remembered 
that  you  must  have  gone  through  many  difficulties. ' '  Then 
as  if  shot  from  a  pistol :  *  *  Why  didn  't  you  come  sooner  ?  I 
waited  and  waited — a  month — several  months — then  I  took 
to  looking  for  you — in  vain.  I  even  thought  of  going  to  a 
detective  bureau,  but  I  feared  overstepping  the  bounds  of 
reserve — ' ' 

Lilly  nodded  with  a  smile  of  appreciation. 
**  Unfortunately  I  did  not  dream  of  another  name.     So 
I  gave  up  the  hope  of  ever  having  the  great  pleasure — " 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  delight  he  seemed  prepared  to 
elasp  her  hand.  However,  he  proved  himself  sufficiently 
well  bred  to  desist  when  he  saw  she  did  not  respond. 

Lilly  now  had  the  reins  of  the  situation  in  her  hands. 
She  felt  she  was  so  saturated  with  the  romance  of  suffer- 
ing, so  enveloped  by  the  delicate  aroma  of  aristocratic 
aloofness,  that  she  might  just  have  stepped  out  of  one  of 
Mrs.  Asmussen's  novels. 


300  The  Song  of  Songs 

*  *  I  am  grateful  to  you  for  your  reproaches.  I  see  I  did 
not  knock  at  your  door  in  vain. '  * 

**I  assure  you/'  he  replied,  inclining  his  head  still  more 
to  the  left  by  way  of  emphasis,  **I  place  myself  at  your 
service  with  all  my  powers,  with  everything  I  am  and — '* 
He  paused.  The  word  *'have,'*  which  should  naturally 
have  followed,  was  more  than  he,  the  scrupulous  business 
man,  would  allow  to  pass  his  lips  so  lightly. 

* '  I  will  not  make  great  demands  on  you,  of  course, ' '  Lilly 
replied  airily,  to  put  a  little  damper  on  his  ardour.  **  I 
simply  do  not  want  to  be  without  someone  to  advise  me  as 
to  a  way  of  earning  my  livelihood,  and  since — Mr.  von 
Prell" — at  last  the  name  came  out — ^**said  I  might  place 
perfect  confidence  in  you — '* 

"You  may  rely  upon  me  as  upon  Mr.  von  Prell  himself.'* 

** That's  not  saying  a  great  deal,"  flashed  through  her 
head,  but  she  kept  from  revealing  her  thought  by  so  much 
as  a  smile. 

**By  the  way,  what  do  you  hear  from  him?"  he  asked. 

Lilly  blushed.  If  she  admitted  his  silence,  she  laid  her- 
self bare,  irremediably.  So,  not  to  appear  forsaken  and 
cast  aside,  she  said: 

'  *  On  parting  we  agreed  not  to  write  to  each  other  for  the 
time  being.  We  thought  in  the  struggle  ahead  of  us  that 
eternal  waiting  for  news  and  that  eternal  fear  for  each 
other  would  not  leave  us  with  the  strength  necessary  for 
meeting  the  demands  of  life.  But  you  probably  have  got- 
ten a  letter  from  him  lately  ? ' ' 

He  started,  and  reflected  an  instant. 

**Yes — ^that  is,  no.  Not  lately.  Sometime  ago  he 
wrote — ^he  was  getting  along.  He  said  he  was  about  to 
make  a  career  for  himself.  And  he  asked  most  urgently 
as  to  your  whereabouts;  in  regard  to  which,  of  course,  to 
my  great  distress,  I  could  not  enlighten  him." 


The  Song  of  Songs  301 

This  did  not  sound  very  likely.  A  moment  before  he 
himself  had  been  asking  for  news  of  Walter,  and  now  when 
she  inquired  for  Walter  ^s  address,  he  had  to  acknowledge, 
stammering,  that  the  letter  had  not  contained  an  address 
and  for  that  reason — ' 

It  was  quite  clear  he  had  fabricated. 

Probably  he  hoped  to  acquire  greater  importance  in  her 
eyes  by  representing  his  relations  with  her  lover  as  still 
continuing.  But  since  similar  motives  had  led  her  to  trifle 
with  the  truth,  she  had  no  cause  for  feeling  angry  with 
him. 

She  now  told  him  the  purpose  of  her  visit ;  described  the 
delicate  craft  she  had  learned  a  fe\^  months  before,  the 
desire  she  had  to  perfect  herself  in  it,  and  her  helplessness 
w'hen  it  came  to  practical  matters.  Might  she  ask  Mr. 
Dehnicke  to  recommend  some  artist  who  could  instruct 
her  ?     That  was  all  she  had  come  to  him  for. 

He  listened  to  her  with  professional  interest,  and  acted 
as  if  he  took  her  plans  ever  so  seriously.  But  behind  the 
mute  thoughtfulness  of  his  features  lay  something  that 
did  not  please  her.  It  was  not  pity,  most  certainly  not. 
It  was  rather  a  holding  back  and  seeking,  then  an  increas- 
ing satisfaction,  as  if  he  felt  he  was  gaining  ground  in  the 
measure  in  which  the  helplessness  of  her  situation  became 
apparent. 

**A  very  easy  matter,"  he  replied,  his  manner  less  con- 
strained than  before.  **  There  are  several  real  painters 
among  the  artists  who  furnish  the  models  for  my  business. 
One  of  them" — he  turned  the  pages  of  a  book — *'Keller- 
mann — the  very  man — and  then — .  However,  we  ^11  drop 
that  for  the  present.  There  are  other  things  to  be  con- 
sidered in  connection  with  your  practising  your  profession 
which,  it  strikes  me,  are  more  important.  So  please  don^t 
consider  me  impolite  if  I  put  some  questions  to  you." 


302  fThe  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  nodded  assent. 

**What  artistic  training  have  you  had?" 

**Well,  you  see,  that's  just  it/'  Lilly  replied,  getting 
the  better  of  her  embarrassment.  **Just  because  I  never 
had  any  I  should  like — " 

He  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

''What  are  your  means  of  support?" 

She  was  silent.  She  felt  as  if  her  clothes  were  being 
drawn  from  her  body  piece  by  piece. 

**I  need  not  tell  you,"  he  added,  ''it's  not  my  inten- 
tion to  pry  into  matters  that  do  not  concern  me.  But 
since  you  honoured  me  by  asking  my  advice — " 

"I  still  have  some  jewels,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
severely  and  haughtily.  *'When  they  go,  I'll  have  noth- 
ing." 

He  nodded  slightly,  as  if  to  say,  **I  thought  so." 

"One  more  question:  in  what  sort  of  a  place  are  you 
living  now?" 

"In  the  sort  of  place  befitting  my  condition.  Four 
flights  up,  with  a  poor  woman,  the  one  from  whom  I 
learned  pasting  pressed  flowers." 

As  she  said  this,  her  glance  fell  upon  the  mirror  and 
showed  her  the  image  of  the  beautiful  aristocratic  society 
dame,  who  had  condescended  to  bestow  a  visit  upon  Mr. 
Dehnicke,  "comrade  of  the  reserves,"  in  his  dark  hole  of 
an  office. 

He  rose,  and  for  a  few  moments  paced  up  and  down 
between  the  desk  and  the  door.  He  was  so  spruce  and  his 
clothes  fitted  him  so  snugly  that  everything  about  him 
cracked  and  creaked.  In  his  polished  rotundity  he  looked 
as  if  he  had  just  stepped  out  of  a  bandbox.  He  had  a  little 
bald  spot,  too.  But  the  expression  of  his  face  remained 
serious,  almost  uneasy,  as  if  he  were  weighed  down  by 
heavy  thoughts. 


The  Song  of  Songs  303 

He  came  to  a  halt  before  her  and  his  voice  quivered 
a  little  as  he  spoke. 

**What  I  am  going  to  say  has  its  roots  in  the  many 
years  of  genuine  friendship  that  unite  me  to  Mr.  von 
Prell—" 

The  mocking,  condescending  words  with  which  Walter 
had  recommended  him  to  her,  occurred  to  Lilly. 

**I  passed  so  many  delightful  hours  in  his  company.  I 
owe  him  so  much  inspiration  and — ''  He  stopped.  He 
owed  him  so  much  he  could  not  remember  it  all  on  the  in- 
stant.    **I  will  remain  in  debt  to  him  the  rest  of  my  life.*' 

**Who  feels  he  is  indebted  to  me  because  I  pumped  him 
for  coin,*'  was  what  Walter  had  written.  Then  there 
really  did  exist  such  touching  creatures  in  the  world. 

**But  I  am  most  grateful  to  him  for  the  confidence  he 
showed  in  me  by  bequeathing  his  betrothed  to  me,  so  to 
speak/' 

** Betrothed!"  The  word  had  been  uttered.  She  had 
not  deceived  herself.  It  frightened  her,  but  she  did  not 
repudiate  it.  Until  that  day  she  had  not  even  dreamed 
of  considering  Walter  and  herself  bound  to  each  other, 
neither  herself,  nor  the  poor  little  fellow  who  did  not 
know  how  to  care  for  himself,  much  less  for  a  wife  and 
child.  But  then — in  the  eyes  of  this  man  with  his  middle- 
class  morals,  that  was  the  only  justification  for  her  bun- 
gled, ill-regulated  existence.  And  not  only  in  his  eyes — in 
the  eyes  of  the  whole  world — and,  if  she  cared,  in  her  own 
eyes,  too.  If  she  clung  to  the  man  who  was  practically 
dead  to  her,  fastening  upon  him  all  her  wishes  and  feelings, 
she  would  have  a  support  for  her  entire  being.  She  could 
ask  for  absolution  and  justification  even  before  God. 

All  this  flashed  through  her  mind  with  lightning  rapid- 
ity while  Mr.  Dehnicke  continued  to  asseverate  his  friend- 
ship for  Walter,  and  look  at  her  with  his  round  eyes  in 


304  The  Song  of  Songs 

undesirons    adoration.    Finally    he    came    to    the    point. 

**In  his  place  and  for  his  sake  I  advise  yon  most  ur- 
gently to  quit  surroundings  that  do  not  suit  you,  and 
create  an  environment  in  keeping  with  your  past.  If  you 
ever  wish  to  realise  your  plans  you  will  have  to." 

* '  What  has  my  environment  to  do  with  my  art ?' *  queried 
Lilly,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

**Well,  in  the  first  place  you  must  have  a  studio  where 
you  can  receive  your  customers — ^where  you  can  show  them 
who  you  are  and  the  extent  of  your  artistic  demands,  and 
what  the  real  nature  of  your  artistic  intentions  are.  That 
is  the  only  way  of  preventing  your  customers  from  treat- 
ing and  paying  you  like  an  ordinary  worker. '  * 

**But  the  customers  don't  come  to  me,''  she  interjected. 

**They  should  come  to  you,"  he  exclaimed,  talking  him- 
self into  a  degree  of  eagerness.  **An  artist  with  self-re- 
spect doesn't  take  one  step  outside  his  studio  to  offer  his 
wares  for  sale.    You  must  treat  yourself  the  same  way." 

She  mentally  calculated  the  value  of  the  rest  of  her 
brooches,  rings,  and  bracelets,  and  rejoined  with  a  smile: 

*' Easily  said." 

Mr.  Dehnicke  made  a  bold  sally. 

**My  sincere  friendship  for  Walter" — now  he  called  him 
by  his  first  name — *' gives  me  the  right — how  shall  I  say? 
to  make  provision,  to — " 

Lilly  saw  what  was  coming  ai;id  shut  off  further  discus- 
sion. 

**I  feel  content  where  I  am,"  she  declared,  *'and  until 
I  have  created  with  my  own  efforts  the  suitable  environ- 
ment that  you  so  kindly  wish  for  me,  I  do  not  feel  I  am 
entitled  to  make  a  change." 

He  bowed.  His  friendly  zeal  cooled  off  markedly.  But 
he  asked  for  her  address,  so  that  he  might  know  where  he 
should  send  her  the  desired  information. 


The  Song  of  Songs  305 

Lilly  hesitatingly  gave  it  to  him,  and  added  the 
request  that  in  no  circumstances  should  he  come  to  see 
her. 

He  bowed  again,  and  his  coolness  became  rigidity. 

But  Lilly  rejoiced  that  she  had  known  so  well  how  to 
keep  him  at  a  distance.  Nobody  in  the  wide  world  should 
call  her  a  beggar. 

She  therefore  took  leave  all  the  more  graciously,  for  she 
had  not  come  to  him  in  order  to  frighten  him  away  for- 
ever. 

He  was  quick  to  profit  by  her  warmer  tone,  and  became 
ardent  again. 

If  there  was  anything  else  he  could  do  for  her — if  she 
felt  lonely — and  required  company. 

Lilly  looked  at  his  right  hand,  saw  no  wedding  ring 
there,  and  smiled  **no.'' 

He  understood  look  and  smile,  for  he  said,  hemming 
and  hawing  in  an  endeavour  to  conquer  fresh  confusion : 

**I  live  alone  with  my  mother,  but  unfortunately  I  can- 
not take  you  to  see  her  because  she  is  sickly  and  since  my 
father's  death  has  withdrawn  entirely  from  society.  But 
I  would  be  most  careful  as  to  the  company  to  which  I 
should  introduce  you.'* 

**I  took  that  for  granted, '*  Lilty  replied  with  amiable 
condescension.  **In  spite  of  that — thank,  you,  really — in 
the  peculiar  position  I  am  in  it  is  better  for  me  not  to 
mingle  with  people." 

She  gave  him  a  regal  bow,  held  out  her  hand,  and 
left. 

He  followed  her  respectfully,  and  the  six  young  gentle- 
men stood  up  in  a  row  and  curved  their  backs  like  their 
employer. 

With  flushed  face  Lilly  passed  the  partially  completed 
decorations  in  the  yard,  and  V^lked  along  the  imitation 


306    ,  The  Song  of  Songs 

marble  entrance  to  the  street,  thinking,  in  mingled  triumph 
and  disenchantment: 

**No,  that  was  not  a  path  of  destiny.*' 

But  she  had  suddenly  acquired  a  betrothed.  That  was 
something,  at  any  rate. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Mb.  August  Kellermann,  though  unsuccessful  in  sell- 
ing his  pictures,  enjoyed  a  fair  reputation  as  a  painter. 
He  was  a  knowing  fellow  of  about  thirty-five,  seven  times 
washed  in  the  life  of  the  metropolis,  who  got  great  amuse- 
ment from  his  own  astuteness.  He  had  a  sandy  Rubens 
beard  and  small  bleared  eyes  with  an  eternal  yawn  in  them 
from  the  night  before. 

He  lived  in  an  abandoned  photographer's  studio  of 
enormous  dimensions,  like  a  huge  glass  case.  To  keep  out 
the  glare  and  the  heat  he  had  hung  oriental  rugs  under 
the  skylight,  propping  them  up  on  long  poles,  and  their 
fringed  ends  hung  down  as  in  a  Beduin's  tent. 

When  Lilly  stepped  from  the  dim  anteroom  into  the 
glare  of  the  diffused  light  from  above — it  was  so  high  it 
seemed  a  very  part  of  the  heaven — she  found  him  in  a 
puce-coloured  sack  coat  and  worn  green  unheeled  slippers, 
over  which  hung  his  red-checked  stockings.  He  was 
squatting  on  the  floor  next  to  an  oriental  coffee  tray  poking 
at  a  narghile  that  had  gone  out. 

**Lordy!''  he  exclaimed  without  responding  to  her  greet- 
ing and  without  rising.  **It's  worth  receiving  such  a 
visit.'* 

Lilly  prepared  to  withdraw.  Then  he  shot  to  his  feet 
like  an  arrow,  hoisted  his  trousers  with  a  shrug  of  I  is 
shoulders,  and  wiped  the  dust  from  a  bamboo  chair  with 
his  sleeves. 

**Sit  down,  child.  I  have  given  up  painting  for  the 
present,  and  have  gone  in  for  pottery,  and  I  should  not  be 

307 


308  The  Song  of  Songs 

able  to  make  lose  of  fair  Helen  herself,  but  I  won't  let 
anything  like  you  escape  me,  not  I/' 

Lilly  handed  him  her  benefactor's  letter,  which  she  had 
received  the  day  before,  and  enlightened  him  as  to  the  mis- 
take he  had  made. 

**Now  his  manner  will  change,"  she  thought. 

Nothing  of  the  sort  took  place. 

'* Botheration!''  he  said,  scratching  his  head.  ** Noblest 
of  women,  why  are  you  so  beautiful?  Quondam  general's 
wife" — here  she  was  *' general's  wife"  again — "I  had  im- 
agined spectacles  and  pimples,  and  now  something  like  this 
comes  along." 

**Then  you  probably  know  what  my  motive  is  in  visiting 
you?"  asked  Lilly,  who  was  too  faint-hearted  to  express 
resentment  at  his  tone. 

He  clapped  his  fleshy  hand  to  his  forehead. 

*'One  moment,  one  moment.  Mr.  Dehnicke,  my  dry 
bread-giver — dry  referring  to  bread  as  well  as  to  giver — 
did  say  something  to  me  day  before  yesterday,  but  I  suffer 
from  congenital  defect  of  my  faculties  of  apprehension,  and 
I  hope  you  will  be  good  enough  to — " 

When  Lilly  explained  the  nature  of  her  desires,  he  broke 
out  into  unrestrained  laughter. 

*  *  That  you  shall  have,  my  aristocratic  friend.  You  shall 
certainly  enjoy  the  benefit  of  my  instruction.  Even  if 
you  hadn't  been  foam-born!  Such  a  treat  doesn't  happen 
every  day.  I  will  charm  so  many  sunsets  out  of  the  heav- 
ens and  set  them  on  glass  in  hues  so  roseate  you  will 
never  be  able  to  look  a  rose  in  the  face  again. ' ' 

Lilly  was  by  no  means  ignorant  that  in  her  capacity  of 
aristocratic  lady,  the  part  she  wished  to  play,  she  should 
have  left  the  studio  long  before.  But  she  was  too  eager  to 
avail  herself  of  his  readiness  to  instruct;  she  could  not 
throw  away  the  opportunity  so  painfully  won. 


THe  Song  of  Songs  309 

''What  would  Anna  von  Schwertfeger  do  in  such  a  sit- 
uation?" she  asked  herself.  Then,  tossing  her  head,  she 
said:  **But  there  are  certain  matters  to  be  settled  before 
we  proceed  further.  In  the  first  place,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  your  charges  are,  so  that  I  may  decide  if  I  can 
afford  to  pay  for  such  valuable  services — '^ 

He  looked  somewhat  disconcerted,  and  remarked  that  Mr. 
Dehnicke  would  probably  look  out  for  that. 

**Mr.  Dehnicke  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  my  money 
matters,"  she  replied.  *'If  there  should  be  any  misunder- 
standing as  to  that — "  she  grasped  her  parasol — she  had 
kept  her  gloves  on. 

'*Tut,  tut,  don't  be  so  hasty, '*  said  Mr.  Kellermann.  He 
reflected  a  few  moments,  and  then  mentioned  a  reasonable 
charge,  five  marks  a  morning. 

**The  ruby  ring,"  thought  Lilly,  and  nodded. 

'*I'm  curious  as  to  the  second  condition,"  he  said. 

**It  is  more  important  to  me  than  the  first.  It  is — ^I 
should  like  to  be  treated  like  a  lady." 

**0h,"  he  said,  **I'm  not  fine  enough  for  you?  Well 
fix  that.  I  can  be  fine  as  silk,  I  tell  yoUf  I  can.  In  fact  I 
possess  six  degrees  of  fineness,  and  all  you  need  do  is 
choose  the  one  you  like  best:  superfine,  extrafine,  fine, 
semifine,  impolite,  and  downright  vulgar.     Now  select." 

This  joke  and  a  few  more  similar  in  quality  pleased  Lilly 
so  well  that  for  the  present  she  gave  up  her  demand  to  be 
respected  as  a  grande  dame,  and  was  content  if  in  asso- 
ciating with  her  he  did  not  pay  her  court  and  took  her  as 
a  *'good  fellow." 

However,  her  admonition  had  not  failed  of  effect.  The 
next  day  when  she  came  he  was  wearing  boots. 

He  proved  to  be  an  intelligent,  discreet  teacher,  who  did 
not  essay  wild  flights  with  his  pupil  and  manifested  kindly, 
considerate  interest  in  her  childish  plan. 


310  The  Song  of  Songs 

He  devised  something  of  gelatine  especially  for  her  pur- 
pose, by  which  colours  on  a  transparency  gained  in  bril- 
liancy.    He  was  untiring  in  planning  new  effects. 

"I  will  make  six  bloody  sunsets  for  you/'  he  said,  '*witK 
which  you  will  deal  a  blow  to  all  your  competitors  in  a 
body,  especially  that  extremely  conscienceless  lady  who  per- 
petrates the  most  impertinent  pranks.  I  mean,  of  course, 
Dame  Nature.'' 

While  Lilly  daubed  on  a  window  pane,  he  stood  smoking 
Turkish  tobacco  or  chewing  ginger  before  one  of  the  mod- 
elling stands  that  took  up  the  centre  of  the  room  and  "pot- 
tered" at  his  work. 

The  artistic  creations  that  he  ** fetched  out  of  the  depths 
of  his  soul"  were  usually  human  figures  half  or  third  life 
size:  knights  in  armour  bearing  banners,  maidens  in  old 
German  costumes  aimlessly  stretching  out  their  hands,  al- 
legoric women's  figures  doing  the  same,  heralds  blowing 
trumpets,  and  now  and  then  secession  shapes,  long,  slim, 
swirly  limbs  which  trailed  off  like  a  nixy's  body  into  a 
fish's  tail  into  ash  trays,  finger  bowls,  or  other  such  pleas- 
ing and  useful  objects. 

And  all  the  while  that  he  was  turning  out  factory  mod- 
els, dusty,  half-completed  paintings  and  sketches  hung  on 
the  walls,  or  stood  on  the  floor  leaning  against  the  walls. 
They  showed  a  bold  inventiveness,  a  riotous  joy  in  colour. 
Each  seemed  to  bear  the  mark  of  a  reckless  conception  and 
a  laughing  ability  to  execute. 

One  was  a  picture  of  a  half-ruined  church  in  a  tropical 
forest  with  a  pack  of  monkeys  chasing  over  the  altar ;  an- 
other, a  group  of  stupid  camels  in  a  depressing  desert  scene 
snuffling  at  the  corpse  of  a  dead  lion.  The  best  was  a 
painting  of  a  naked  woman  weighed  down  by  heavy  chains, 
which  bound  her  blooming,  lustrous  body  to  a  parched  rock. 


The  Song  of  Songs  311 

while  a  flock  of  black,  red-eyed  vultures  hovered  about  her 
head. 

There  was  much  else  which  testified  to  force  and  orig- 
inality, but  the  woman  in  chains  remained  Lilly's  favourite. 

One  day  she  ventured  to  ask  her  teacher  why  he  permit- 
ted all  these  paintings  to  go  to  ruin  instead  of  finishing 
them  and  placing  them  on  exhibit. 

''Because  I  have  to  produce  pot-boilers,  you  innocent 
angel,  you,''  he  replied,  and  splashed  a  clod  of  clay  against 
the  leg  of  the  allegoric  lady  he  was  working  on.  **  Because 
the  world  requires  lamps  and  vases,  but  not  an  eternal 
beauty  with  mother-wit  inside  her  lovely  body.  Because 
there  are  'manufacturers  gf  imitation  bronze  ware,'  who 
keep  you  from  dropping  by  the  roadside.  And  because 
I'm  a  fellow  with  sound  teeth  who  must  have  a  few  morsels 
of  life  to  crunch,  and,  after  starving  for  twenty  years, 
would  like  to  join  the  great  band  of  Dionysus  worshippers. 
Do  you  understand,  you  afternoon-tea-soul,  you?" 

"But  the  woman  with  the  chains,  why  don't  you  finish 
iher  at  least?" 

He  burst  into  mocking  laughter  at  himself,  and  threw 
himself  full  length  on  the  fur-covered  couch  which  stood 
in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  large  glass-walled  room.  Then 
he  jumped  up,  and  offered  Lilly  some  of  the  ginger  from 
the  pot  he  always  kept  on  hand. 

She  declined,  and  pressed  him  for  an  answer. 

*'Good  Lord,"  he  said,  "don't  you  realise  how  heavily 
one's  own  chains  weigh  one  down?  Fire  would  have  to 
descend  from  heaven  and  melt  my  manacles.  Or  else  the 
goddess  herself  would  have  to  come  down,  lay  her  corset 
and  stockings  on  that  chair  there,  and  say:  'Here  I  am, 
sir.  Here  is  the  foam-born  body.  Begin — look  and  paint 
to  your  heart's  content.'  " 


312  The  Song  of  Songs 

Still  chewing  ginger  he  took  his  stand  in  front  of  Lilly 
and  raised  his  clasped  hands  up  to  her. 

**You  look  at  me  so  oddly,"  she  said,  **what  have  / 
to  do  with  all  thatT' 

**I'm  not  saying  anything/'  he  exclaimed.  "I  have  too 
much  contemptible  respect  to — .  But  when  my  chain-laden 
beauty  shall  have  cried  for  freedom  long  enough — she  cries 
day  and  night,  sometimes  she  cries  so  I  can't  sleep — ^then, 
perhaps,  the  miracle  will  happen,  and  a  certain  lady,  who 
is  now  blushing  even  unto  her  eyeballs,  will  come  and — '' 

**I  think  we'd  better  get  to  work,"  said  Lilly. 

After  that  day  Lilly  took  good  care  not  to  speak  of  the 
picture,  nor  even  give  it  a  sidelong  glance  if  she  thought 
Mr.  Kellermann  might  see  her.  Nevertheless  he  made 
many  beseeching  allusions  to  his  presumptuous  desire, 
which  he  seemed  unable  to  dismiss  from  his  mind.  Finally 
Lilly  had  to  forbid  his  ever  referring  to  it. 

Her  zeal  for  learning  increased  daily.  The  hours  in  the 
studio  did  not  suffice.  She  practiced  at  home  as  well.  And 
when  she  tried  her  skill  on  the  glass  plates  she  had  bought, 
the  result,  in  her  and  Mrs.  Laue  's  opinion,  was  highly  com- 
mendable. 

In  the  background  the  sun  set  in  the  prescribed  manner 
in  a  sea  of  blood  over  hilltops  of  a  robin's  egg  blue.  In 
the  foreground  stood  woods,  dark  and  silent,  of  grass  and 
ferns,  belonging  anywhere  between  the  Jurassic  and  Car- 
boniferous ages,  shading  huts  festively  lighted  from  within, 
constructed  by  a  race  of  men  who  must  have  acquired  cul- 
ture at  an  extremely  early  period  in  the  world 's  history. 

Lilly  lacked  the  courage  to  show  her  creations  to  her 
master.  He  had  declared,  as  a  matter  of  principle  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  those  pasted  abominations. 
But  it  would  have  been  a  great  pleasure  to  let  Mr.  Deh- 


The  Song  of  Songs  313 

nicke  see  what  she  had  learned  and  achieved  since  she  had 
visited  him. 

Unfortunately,  after  receiving  that  one  letter,  she  did 
not  hear  from  him  again,  and  she  was  abashed  at  having 
been  set  aside  so  lightly. 

But  one  day  Mr.  Kellermann  said: 

**What  the  devil — the  bronze  manufacturing  business 
seems  to  be  booming  all  of  a  sudden.  Our  Mr.  Dehnicke 
can't  give  me  enough  orders.  He's  up  here  every  day  to 
see  how  things  are  progressing." 

Something  in  Mr.  Kellermann 's  manner  of  blinking  at 
her  made  Lilly  blush,  and  disquieted  her,  though  at  the 
same  time  it  filled  her  with  a  degree  of  satisfaction. 

At  length,  when  the  seven  pairs  of  plates  had  been 
painted,  and  she  could  no  longer  endure  her  excess  of  eager 
pride,  she  took  heart,  and  wrote  him  a  letter  on  her  beau- 
tiful ivory  paper  with  the  golden,  seven-pointed  coronet — 
she  had  about  twenty  sheets  of  it  left.  Since  he  had  taken 
such  kindly  interest  in  her,  she  wrote,  she  would  ask  him 
to  come  next  Sunday  afternoon,  and  so  on. 

His  reply  arrived  without  delay. 

Her  kind  letter  gratified  his  dearest  wish ;  he  had  greatly 
desired  to  visit  her  but  had  remained  away  so  long  merely 
out  of  respect  for  her  wishes. 

And  then,  on  the  appointed  Sunday  afternoon,  he  came. 

Lilly  had  placed  a  gladiolus  plant  in  the  punch  bowl  and 
stuck  pink  carnations  back  of  the  box  containing  the  lamp 
shade.  Suspended  at  the  windows  by  silk  ribbons  hung 
the  sunsets  glowing  like  a  conflagration  and  throwing  a 
magic  light  on  the  motley  frippery  that  Mrs.  Laue  had 
saved  along  with  her  own  self  from  better  times.  In  her 
white  lace  blouse,  which  she  herself  had  washed  and  ironed, 
Lilly  looked  gay  and  festive^  and  when  she  held  out  her 


314  The  Song  of  Songs 

hand  to  Mr.  Dehnicke  who  appeared  in  the  doorway  clad 
in  patent  leather  shoes  and  a  chimney-pot,  bowing  and 
scraping,  she  was  once  again  the  affable,  unapproachable 
society  lady,  who  three  weeks  before  had  entered  his  office, 
and  given  rather  than  gotten. 

Her  benefactor  seemed  all  the  more  embarrassed. 

He  sniffed  the  poor-people's  smell  that  penetrated  Mrs. 
Lane's  best  room  from  the  rest  of  the  house,  looked  up 
and  down  the  walls  uneasily,  and  in  general  acted  as  if  he 
were  trespassing  on  forbidden  territory. 

How  happy  he  was,  he  said,  that  she  had  at  last  granted 
him  permission — ^he  hadn't  wished  to  appear  intrusive — 
he  would  have  waited  even  longer  had  not  her  note  re- 
moved all  his  doubts.  He  repeated  everything  he  had 
said  in  his  letter  with  nervous  precipitation,  which  did  not 
harmonise  with  his  elegant  appearance  or  his  usual  frosty 
manner. 

Lilly  thanked  him  amiably  for  all  he  had  done  for  her, 
regretted  having  caused  him  the  inconvenience  of  coming 
to  see  her,  and  all  the  while  felt  that  with  each  word  she 
was  falling  back  more  and  more  into  the  role  of  the  '*  gen- 
eral 's  wife ' ' — partly  against  her  will — ^who  does  the  honours 
in  her  drawing-room  with  courteous  condescension. 

Gradually  she  turned  the  conversation  in  *  *  by-the-ways " 
to  her  art.  She  said  she  was  sorry  she  was  so  incompe- 
tent, and  pointed  to  the  transparencies  at  the  windows. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  jumped  up.    He  was  silent  for  a  while,/ 
then  burst  into  exclamations  of  enthusiasm,  for  each  of 
which  he  had  to  take  a  fresh  start,  as  it  were,  reiterating 
his  praises  with  a  certain  business-like  monotony  of  tone, 
and  smiling  in  an  embarrassed  way. 

Lilly  was  far  too  delighted  to  suspect  the  tone  of  his 
criticism. 


The  Song  of  Songs  315 

*'Have  you  shown  them  to  Mr.  Kellermann?**  asked  Mr, 
Dehnicke. 

Lilly  confessed  to  her  lack  of  courage.  ** Besides,'*  she 
added,  **I  felt  I  ought  to  show  them  to  you  first." 

He  looked  at  her  gratefully  and  worshipfuUy,  and  said: 

"If  you  haven't  done  so  yet,  I  advise  you  to  refrain 
from  ever  showing  them  to  him.  Despite  his  apparent  will- 
ingness, the  man  is  obsessed  by  inordinate  professional  con- 
ceit, and  it  might  be — '' 

Mr.  Dehnicke  seemed  to  fear  to  say  more. 

Lilly  plucked  up  her  courage,  and  asked,  as  if  it  were  a 
matter  of  only  slight  importance,  whether  he  thought  any- 
one would  buy  her  work. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  became  silent  again,  and  with  his  index 
finger  scratched  at  the  left  side  of  his  upper  lip  under 
his  moustache.  Then  he  inclined  his  smooth,  round  head 
still  more  to  the  left,  and  said  weighing  each  word : 

**It  would  be  best  if  you  were  to  entrust  the  sale  of  your 
transparencies  to  me.  I  have  certain  connections  and  I 
know  the  character  of  the  buyers.  If  I  set  the  glass  in 
bronze  frames,  or  something  of  the  sort,  I  might  even  dis- 
pose of  them  as  goods  of  my  own.'' 

Lilly  flushed  with  gratitude. 

*'0h,  will  you?"  she  cried,  grasping  his  hand.  **At 
least  until  I  have  found  customers  for  myself?" 

The  pressure  of  her  hand  caused  him  to  redden  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair. 

**In  order  to  do  that,"  he  said,  looking  away  from  her 
with  an  abashed  expression,  **you  must  move  away  from 
here  at  once  and  establish  a  home  worthy  of  yourself. ' ' 

**I  will  gladly,"  she  answered  gaily,  *'as  soon  as  I  have 
earned  the  wherewithal. ' ' 

*'That  may  mean  years." 


316  .The  Song  of  Songs 

**I  will  wait  years." 

**May  I  be  permitted/'  he  stammered,  **to  remind  you 
once  more  that  being  an  old  and  intimate  friend  of  your 
betrothed,  I  am  justified — " 

Lilly  drew  herself  up. 

**If  my  betrothed,*'  she  said,  **ever  should  or  could  take 
care  of  me,  I  might  not  have  to  refuse.  But  as  it  is,  I  may 
not  allow  anybody  in  the  world,  not  even  his  dearest  friend, 
to  make  offers  which  at  best  would  merely  humiliate  me." 

She  turned  her  face  aside  to  hide  her  tears,  which  arose 
from  a  sense  of  insult. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  contritely  begged  her  pardon,  but  some- 
thing like  a  bit  of  fluttered  triumph  sat  in  his  eyes. 

When  it  had  been  agreed  that  one  of  his  waggons  was 
to  come  the  following  day  to  fetch  the  transparencies,  and 
all  ** business"  had  been  settled,  Mr.  Dehnicke  modestly 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  remain  a  few  moments  longer.  He 
would  like  to  speak  a  little  more  about  the  absent  friend. 
It  was  his  only  opportunity — '' 

**A  great  pleasure  for  me,  too,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Lilly 
and  invited  him  to  be  seated.  * '  I  am  happy  to  have  found 
somebody  with  whom  I  can  speak  about  my  betrothed. ' ' 

** Betrothed,"  now  fell  quite  naturally  from  her  lips. 
She  felt  somewhat  stirred  when  she  uttered  it. 

The  chance  that  Mr.  Dehnicke  might  prolong  his  visit 
had  been  foreseen  and  provided  for.  Lilly  needed  only  to 
ring  and  Mrs.  Laue  appeared  in  the  famous  brown  velvet 
dress  with  one  of  Lilly's  white  fichus  modestly  tucked  in 
the  square-cut  neck,  and  carrying  a  tea  tray  with  two  very 
dainty  coffee  cups.  On  being  presented  to  Mr.  Dehnicke 
she  made  a  courtesy,  than  which  none  more  aristocratic  was 
to  be  seen  at  the  balls  of  Prince  Orloffski.  After  saying 
a  few  suitable  words  about  the  great  actors  of  the  past 


The  Song  of  Songs  317 

and  the  photographs  to  which  they  had  affixed  their  sig- 
natures especially  for  her,  she  took  leave,  as  was  proper. 

Lilly  displayed  style  as  a  hostess;  and  like  the  aroma  of 
the  coffee,  the  spirit  of  ** better  days''  hovered  over  all. 

About  four  days  later  the  mail  brought  Mrs.  Lilly  Cze- 
panek  a  money-order  for  210  marks.  Sender,  Richard 
Dehnicke,  of  Liebert  &  Dehnicke,  Mfrs.  of  Metal  Wares. 
And  on  the  left  side  was  the  remark:  ** Seven  transpar- 
ency-paintings with  pressed  flowers,  sold  at  30  mks.  a 
piece." 

The  foundations  of  a  livelihood  had  been  laid. 


CHAPTER  V 

Now  followed  happy  times. 

With  part  of  the  sum  she  had  earned  Lilly  bought  new 
material,  and  soon  more  sunsets  glowed  beyond  woods  of 
dried  grass. 

When  she  lay  on  her  bed  during  the  hot  summer  nights, 
sleepless  from  overwork,  she  would  give  herself  up  to  wild 
dreams  of  what  she  would  do  when  her  art  had  conquered 
the  world. 

She  would  start  a  workshop,  like  Mr.  Dehnicke's,  em- 
ploy about  a  dozen  women  with  Mrs.  Laue,  of  course,  as 
forelady.  Then  hunt  up  her  father,  and  transfer  her  poor 
crazy  mother  to  a  fine  private  insane  asylum.  What 
else?  Oh  yes,  provide  for  Walter,  certainly.  Now  that 
she  felt  she  was  his  fiancee,  and  her  future  was  his,  this 
was  her  bounden  duty.  To  be  sure  he  must  first  let  him- 
self be  heard  from.  But  some  day,  Lilly  knew,  when  he 
was  at  a  loss  where  to  turn,  he  would  get  word  to  her  in 
some  way  or  other.  Then  she  would  send  him  money — in 
abundance — in  overflowing  measure — everything  her  craft 
threw  into  her  lap. 

No,  not  everything.  One  task,  the  greatest,  the  holiest, 
merely  to  think  of  which  was  presumption,  dominated  her 
life. 

Whether  or  not  her  father  returned,  his  work,  his  im- 
mortal work,  must  never  be  allowed  to  sink  into  oblivion. 
Awaiting  its  summons  to  life  the  score  of  the  Song  of 
Songs  still  lay  asleep  in  Lilly's  locked  trunk.  But  its  sleep 
was  no  longer  so  sound,  so  dreamless  as  in  the  years  just 

318 


The  Song  of  Songs  319 

gone  by.  It  began  to  stir  and  moan.  It  gave  out  a  hum- 
ming and  ringing  which  echoed  through  the  day's  work 
and  crooned  in  Lilly's  sleep,  causing  chords  and  melodies 
to  sound  when  she  least  expected  them. 

Prom  the  blue  hills  beyond  which  the  sun  set  in  flames 
came  a  soft  strain  as  if  blown  by  evening  winds:  **How 
beautiful  are  thy  feet  in  sandals,  0  prince's  daughter!" 
And  out  of  the  dark  depths  of  the  fabulous  woods  flut- 
tered fragments  of  songs  of  the  rose  of  Sharon  and  the 
lily  of  the  valley. 

It  was  almost  as  if  invisible  little  beings  were  singing 
who  led  a  pleasant  existence  inside  those  bright-windowed 
pasteboard  huts. 

Like  Lilly  herself  the  whole  world  would  some  day  have 
a  share  in  the  treasure  whose  guardian  fate  had  destined 
her  to  be. 

"Wherever  she  went  or  stood,  whatever  she  did  or  thought, 
from  all  corners  hopes  came  dancing  forth,  beckoning  and 
smiling.  A  new,  larger,  purer  existence  was  now  to  begin. 
The  ends  of  that  golden  thread  which  her  insane  mother 
had  cut  in  two  with  the  bread  knife,  had  been  tied  to- 
gether again,  and  drew  her  upward,  upward.  She  had 
divinations  of  something  sacred  which  gave  forth  bless- 
ings, something  to  be  prayed  for  and  struggled  for. 

A  few  more  months  and  it  would  all  come  to  pass. 

A  piece  of  good  fortune  seldom  comes  unaccompanied 
by  another ;  and  so  it  happened  that — miracle  of  miracles ! 
— her  betrothed  gave  a  sign  of  life. 

It  was  one  of  the  first  days  in  September  between  eleven 
and  twelve  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Mr.  Dehnicke  ap- 
peared at  her  door  without  having  announced  his  coming. 

Lilly  was  not  completely  dressed,  and  refused  at  first  to 
let  him  in.  However,  he  was  so  insistent  that  the  business 
on  which  he  had  come  was  extremely  important,  that  she 


320  The  Song  of  Songs 

did  not  venture  to  dismiss  him,  and  offering  a  thousand 
excuses  she  received  him  in  her  matinee. 

He  let  a  shy  glance  of  admiration  travel  over  her,  and 
then  drew  a  broad,  strange-looking  piece  of  paper  from  his 
pocket,  which  proved  to  be  a  check  on  the  Lincoln  and 
Ohio  Bank  for  two  thousand  and  some  odd  marks. 

**What  shall  I  do  with  it?''  asked  Lilly. 

**Read  the  letter  it  came  enclosed  in,"  he  replied  un- 
folding a  large  sheet. 

**Mr.  Richard  Dehnicke,  Dear  Sir,"  was  informed  that 
M^.  Walter  von  Prell  had  deposited  five  hundred  dollars  to 
be  paid  over  to  Baroness  Lilly  von  Mertzbach. 

Lilly  was  shaken  by  a  storm  of  gratitude. 

She  ran  up  and  down  the  room  pressing  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes. 

She  had  wanted  to  provide  for  him,  and  now  he  was  pro- 
viding for  Tier, 

Suddenly  she  was  fairly  overwhelmed  by  a  feeling  of 
distrust. 

She  came  to  a  standstill,  and  looked  from  the  check  to 
Mr.  Dehnicke  and  back  at  the  check  again. 

Both  were  wrapped  in  silence. 

**Do  explain,"  she  cried,  utterly  perplexed. 

**What  is  there  for  me  to  explain?"  he  rejoined.  ^*I  am 
merely  the  middleman,  or,  if  you  will,  the  agent  in  this 
affair,  which  really  concerns  no  one  but  you  and  your  af- 
fianced." 

**If  at  least  he  had  given  his  address,"  cried  Lilly. 

**It  almost  looks  as  if  he  wanted  to  eradicate  all  traces 
of  himself,"  Mr.  Dehnicke  observed. 

It  was  so  romantic  and  so  unlike  Walter— how  could  she 
help  being  at  a  loss ! 

But  there  was  ** Baroness  von  Mertzbach."    Walter  was 


The  Song  of  Songs  321 

the  only  person  not  likely  to  know  of  her  having  had  to 
renounce  her  married  name.  That,  at  least,  was  an  indica- 
tion of  the  genuineness  of  the  remittance. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  inclined  his  head  to  the  bft  as  usual,  and 
regarded  her  with  calm  indifference — ^he  was  the  innocent 
middleman,  nothing  more. 

** After  this  unexpected  turn  of  events,'*  he  finally  said, 
**you  will,  of  course,  no  longer  refuse  to  take  up  the  sort 
of  life  that  accords  with  your  social  position  and  is  so  es- 
sential for  the  sale  of  your  works." 

She  shook  her  head,  biting  her  lips. 

Hereupon  he  became  insistent,  more  insistent  than  sh© 
had  thought  his  modesty  would  permit  him  to  be. 

**You  must.  For  his  sake  you  must.  I  am  responsible 
to  him  for  that.  If  he  should  return  and  want  to  marry 
you,  he  must  not  find  a  declassee.  I  am  responsible  to 
him  for  that.'' 

Lilly  asked  for  time  to  consider. 

From  now  on  her  distant  lover  held  sway  over  her  life 
with  a  certain  emphasis.  What  had  been  mere  fancy  be- 
came reality. 

Not  that  she  thought  of  him  unqualifiedly  as  the  real 
sender  of  those  mysterious  five  hundred  dollars.  On  the 
contrary,  the  voice  would  not  be  silenced  that  said  to  her: 
**You  are  being  played  with."  But  she  was  afraid  to 
listen  to  it,  or  even  draw  Inferences  and  come  to  conclu- 
sions. For  if  slfee  were  to  lose  the  single  friend  she  had, 
then  what? 

In  order  to  down  all  her  doubts  and  scruples  she  worked 
diligently,  and  nearly  once  a  week  had  batches  of  sunsets 
ready  to  be  taken  away.  And  in  the  meantime  Mr.  Keller- 
mann  had  brought  her  new  motifs:  a  Gothic  cathedral 
perched  on  perpendicular  rocks,  a  hunting  lodge  with  many 


322  The  Song  of  Songs 

gleaming  windows,  and — chef  d'(£uvre — the  moon  rising 
over  peaceful  waters^  whose  silvery  sheen  was  broken  by 
fern  fronds. 

October  came. 

The  first  Sunday  of  the  month  Mr.  Dehnieke  called  to 
take  Lilly  out  walking.  He  had  come  for  her  twice  before, 
and  Lilly  had  accompanied  him  gladly.  Had  he  offered 
to  take  her  to  the  country,  her  happiness  would  have  been 
complete. 

The  autumnal  sun  lay  peacefully  upon  the  tattered 
leaves  of  the  bare  little  trees  that  edged  the  square  foun- 
tain. Groups  of  people  sauntered  by  aimlessly,  looking 
bored  and  depressed.  The  winter  was  already  laying  its 
icy  touch  on  men's  spirits. 

Mr.  Dehnieke  and  Lilly  went  along  many  strange  streets 
all  filled  with  human  beings;  and  Lilly  waa  happily  con- 
scious of  having  a  leader  and  protector  at  her  side  in  all 
that  bustle. 

Mr.  Dehnieke,  who  had  been  brooding  over  something 
a  long  time,  finally  began: 

**Have  you  reached  a  decision  yet  as  to  your  way  of  liv- 
ing in  the  future  T* 

Lilly  did  not  reply.  She  was  fully  determined  to  reject 
every  offer  on  this  point.  But  it  is  heavenly  to  have  some- 
one begging  of  you ;  you  feel  you  are  of  some  value  in  the 
world. 

**If  I  had  the  right  to  make  a  choice  for  you,*'  he  con- 
tinued in  his  modest,  prim  way,  **I  think  I  could  find  a 
little  corner  that  you  would  delight  in.'* 

**I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,*'  she  rejoined,  half  in  jest. 
**You  seem  to  assume  that  our  tastes  are  absolutely  sim- 
ilar." 

**0h,  no!  I'm  not  so  presumptuous.  But  recently  I 
saw  an  apartment  that  I  think  would  please  you,  unless 


The  Song  of  Songs  323 

I*m  very  much  mistaken.  It  belongs  to  a  lady  customer  of 
mine  who  left  town.*' 

**What  a  pity!  I  should  like  to  have  seen  it,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  find  out  whether  you  have  a  correct 
estimate  of  me.'* 

He  reflected. 

**I  think  it  can  be  arranged.  I  think  I  can  take  you  to 
see  it.  The  maid,  to  be  sure,  won't  be  in,  because  it's 
Sunday,  but  the  porter's  wife  knows  me  and  will  give  me 
the  key.     So  if  you  want  to — " 

Lilly  hesitated  to  force  herself  into  the  home  of  an  ab- 
solute stranger,  but  Mr.  Dehnicke  overbore  her  objections, 
summoned  a  cab,  and  ordered  that  they  be  driven  to  the 
western  section  of  the  city,  where  the  houses  are  statelier 
and  the  people  look  more  aristocratic  and  a  row  of  glorious 
chestnut  trees  planted  in  velvety  grass  hang  over  the  blue 
waters  of  a  canal. 

*'0h,  what  a  joy  it  must  be  to  live  here!"  she  cried. 

The  cab  drew  up  at  a  corner  house  on  the  *  *  Konigin- Au- 
gusta-Ufer. 

Dehnicke  went  to  the  porter's  lodge  and  spoke  a  few 
words  through  the  window.  A  key  was  handed  to  him, 
and  he  led  Lilly  up  the  carpeted  stairs  of  carved  oak.  How 
easy  to  ascend  them,  and  how  different  from  the  bare  flag- 
ging at  home,  which  hurt  one's  feet. 

He  stopped  at  a  door  on  the  second  floor,  and  politely 
rang  in  case  the  maid  should  be  in  after  all.  But  no  one 
answered  the  ring,  so  he  unlocked  the  door  with  the  key. 

In  the  meanwhile  Lilly  tried  to  read  the  name  posted 
alongside  the  door  on  a  porcelain  plate,  but  unsuccessfully, 
owing  to  the  dim  lighting  in  the  halls. 

They  entered  a  narrow,  dark  anteroom  smelling  of  fresh 
paint,  and  passed  through  it  to  a  room  with  one  window. 
Here  tall  closets  with  glass  doors  curtained  with  green  silk 


324  The  Song  of  Songs 

were  ranged  against  the  walls.  The  furniture  consisted  of 
nothing  but  two  armchairs,  a  few  small  gilt  chairs,  and  a 
large,  dark,  highly  polished  dining-table. 

**This  is  really  a  dining-room,"  said  Mr.  Dehnicke. 
**But  it  wouldn't  be  bad  for  a  sample  room  and  private 
studio  for  you.'^ 

Lilly,  who  would  have  enjoyed  contradicting  him,  was 
compelled  to  agree. 

Adjoining  the  dining-room  on  the  right  was  the  bedroom 
with  strawberry-colored  cretonne  drapery,  old  rose  enam- 
elled furniture,  and  a  broad,  canopied  bed  with  a  puffy 
silk  counterpane  and  curtains  held  together  by  a  dull  gold 
seven-pointed  coronet. 

**Does  your  customer  belong  to  the  nobility?''  asked 
Lilly,  seized  by  a  vague  feeling  of  envy. 

**Not  that  I  know  of.  Her  husband  isn't  a  nobleman. 
But  maybe  she  herself  is  of  noble  extraction. ' ' 

Lilly  heaved  a  little  sigh,  recalling  her  ivory  toilet  arti- 
cles and  her  underwear  embroidered  with  a  coronet  lying 
in  Mrs.  Laue  's  musty  drawers.  How  well  they  would  suit 
a  place  like  this !  She  rapturously  breathed  in  the  delicate 
lilac  perfume  which  penetrated  the  entire  room  like  the 
aroma  of  an  aristocratic  spring,  and  shuddered  as  she  com- 
pared it  with  the  poor-people 's  odour  that  was  invading  her 
Dresden  treasures  with  deadly  certainty,  no  matter  how 
persistently  she  aired  them. 

'* Happy  creature!"  she  said  softly. 

It  struck  Lilly  as  peculiar  that  no  traces  were  to  be  seen 
of  the  life  and  activity  of  the  mistress  of  the  place,  not  a 
silk  ribbon,  no  matinee,  or  nightgown,  not  a  bit  of  under- 
wear. 

''She  probably  locked  everything  away,  or  took  every- 
thing with  her,"  said  Mr.  Dehnicke. 

They  returned  to  the  dining-room,  and  through  the  other 


The  Song  of  Songs  325 

door  on  the  left  entered  a  small  drawing-room  at  the  corner 
of  the  house.     It  was  flooded  with  sunlight. 

Lilly  clasped  her  hands  rapturously. 

She  looked  at  the  delicate  old  rose  carpet  with  a  pattern 
of  vaguely  outlined  vines,  at  the  dear  little  crystal  chan- 
delier, whose  prisms  radiated  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow, 
at  the  dark  reddish  mahogany  furniture  with  bronze  statu- 
ettes on  the  dainty  tables — a  woman  about  to  dive  into 
water  with  outstretched  arms,  a  reaper  folding  his  hands  in 
prayer  at  the  sound  of  the  Angelus,  and  similar  subjects. 
There  was  a  little  bookcase,  a  lady's  secretaire,  paintmgs 
on  the  walls,  and  even  an  upright  piano. 

**A  piano!'*  sighed  Lilly  closing  her  eyes  in  mournful 
bliss. 

There  were  animate  objects,  too.  In  front  of  one  of  the 
three  windows  stood  an  aquarium  with  a  broad-leaved  palm 
rising  over  it,  and  the  sunlight  gleaming  on  the  water  and 
the  gold  fish.  A  canary  bird  chirped  at  them  from  another 
window. 

Lilly  recalled  her  light  blue  realm.  In  comparison  how 
plain  and  compact  all  this  was — ^like  a  bird's  nest — ^yet  how 
inconceivably  charming  when  contrasted  with  the  horror 
she  now  dwelt  in. 

**Why,  it's  a  veritable  paradise!"  she  said  gaily,  though 
tears  were  rising  in  her  eyes. 

*'Here  is  one  more  room,"  said  Mr.  Dehnicke,  opening 
a  door  which  Lilly  had  failed  to  notice.  *'It  has  a  sep- 
arate entrance  from  the  hall  of  the  house.  The  lady  prob- 
ably uses  it  as  a  guest  room,  or  something  like  that.  If 
you  were  living  here,  it  would  do  admirably  for  a  place 
for  your  assistants  to  work  in." 

Lilly  looked  in.  The  room  was  more  simply  furnished 
than  the  others,  though  not  without  care.  In  the  middle 
of  the  floor  stood  a  wide  table  with  greenish  grey  uphol- 


326  The  Song  of  Songs 

stered  chairs  standing  about  it,  and  in  a  comer  was  a 
comfortable  iron  bed. 

**If  you  had  it,  of  course,  the  bed  would  have  to  be 
removed, ' '  explained  Mr.  Dehnicke. 

It  was  really  remarkable  how  well  the  apartment  suited 
her  purposes. 

They  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  Lilly  was  struck 
by  something  she  had  not  observed  before.  A  long  pic- 
ture in  an  ornate  carved  frame  hung  over  the  sofa,  form- 
ing, as  it  were,  the  centre  about  which  all  the  rest  of  the 
furnishings  were  grouped.  But  the  picture  itself  was  con- 
cealed beneath  a  curtain  of  lavender  crape. 

**What^s  that?*'  Lilly  asked. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  pointed  to  the 
top  of  the  secretaire,  where  a  photograph,  the  only  orna- 
ment there,  had  the  same  mysterious  veil. 

Seized  with  curiosity  Lilly  tried  slightly  to  raise  the 
lower  end  of  the  covering  over  the  large  picture. 

**I  wonder  whether  I  may,"  she  queried  timidly,  as  if 
about  to  commit  a  theft. 

**If  you  have  the  courage,"  he  replied,  apparently 
breathing  a  little  more  heavily  than  usual. 

She  tugged — tugged  more  violently — the  crape  fell  off — 
and  before  her  hung  her  friend  and  betrothed,  Walter  von 
Prell !  There  he  stood  in  the  uniform  of  his  former  regi- 
ment, boldly  and  carelessly  dashed  off  in  crayon. 

Lilly's  knees  trembled.  Cold  shivers  ran  through  her 
body.  She  refused  to  believe,  to  understand.  Then  she 
felt  Mr.  Dehnicke  take  her  hand  and  draw  her  to  the  out- 
side hall. 

He  lit  a  match. 

On  the  porcelain  plate  she  now  read  what  she  had 
previously  been  unable  to  decipher : 


The  Song  of  Songs  327 

Lilly  Czepanek 
Pressed  Flower  Studio 

She  uttered  a  cry,  rushed  back  into  the  drawing-room, 
threw  herself  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  wept  the  hot, 
blissful  tears  of  desire  and  yearning  that  had  so  long  been 
repressed. 

When  she  ventured  to  look  up  again,  she  saw  Mr.  Deh- 
nicke  waiting  before  her,  modest  and  correct,  with  his  so- 
ber, serious  face. 

She  was  ashamed  of  herself  for  being  so  happy ;  and  full 
of  qualms  she  held  her  hand  out  to  him  gratefully. 

**May  I  hope  that  in  my  capacity  of  Walter's  represen- 
tative I  have  chanced  in  a  measure  to  satisfy  your  taste  ?  * ' 

There  was  no  more  thought  of  refusing. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  mottled  golden  tops  of  the  chestmits  grew  paler, 
the  gaps  ever  wider  that  the  autumn  ate  into  the  foliage. 
Where  a  soothing  green  had  cut  off  the  view,  now  glit- 
tered the  bright  wavelets  of  the  canal.  Long  barges,  la- 
boriously pushed  by  poles,  trailed  along  in  their  cum- 
bersome fashion,  and  the  shaggy  watchdogs  barked  up  at 
the  aristocratic  windows. 

Grey,  rainy  days  came  stealing  upon  the  city  like  an 
enemy,  and  loneliness  laid  its  octopus  clutch  on  Lilly's 
breast. 

But  her  work !  Yes,  she  had  her  work.  So  long  as  the 
first  infatuation  had  lasted  and  Lilly  felt  she  might  hope 
for  some  realisation  of  her  plans,  she  had  clung  to  her 
work  day  and  night. 

But  the  hoped-for  turn  of  events  never  came.  The  an- 
nouncements she  had  had  printed  remained  unheeded.  Mr. 
Dehnicke,  sole  purchaser  of  her  goods,  begged  her — with  a 
hesitating,  embarrassed  manner,  to  be  sure,  yet  explicitly 
enough — not  to  be  hasty,  since  the  general  state  of  the 
market  was  dull. 

By  degrees  her  zest  in  her  profession  began  to  languish. 
She  gave  up  going  to  Mr.  Kellermann  for  lessons,  especially 
since  his  insistence  upon  setting  free  his  ** chained  beauty" 
grew  steadily  more  annoying.  She  locked  the  half-filled 
sample  closets  and  completed  none  but  the  pieces  Mr.  Deh- 
nicke ordered. 

Oh,  those  dark,  pitiless  days,  which  no  laughter  bright- 

328 


The  Song  of  Songs  329 

ened,  no  waiting  shortened,  and  no  purpose  bound  to- 
gether. 

The  kitchen  was  ruled  by  a  young  maid,  ever  silent, 
whose  eyes  were  greedy  and  too  knowing.  Each  morn- 
ing, while  the  little  canary  peeped,  the  fish  were  given 
fresh  water. 

It  was  somewhat  better  in  the  evening  when  the  lights 
were  lit  and  the  crystal  chandelier  radiated  a  brilliant  white 
light.  Lilly  would  then  wander  from  room  to  room  chang- 
ing the  position  of  this  or  that  ornament  and  constantly 
reassuring  herself  how  beautifully  she  lived  and  how  happy 
she  was. 

But  of  what  avail  was  the  old  rose  carpet  with  its  vague 
vine  pattern,  the  wine-coloured  furniture,  and  the  bronze 
bodies  looking  as  if  a  golden  breath  had  blown  over  them  ? 
Those  bronze  bodies  whose  innermost  being  after  all  was 
nothing  more  than  a  zinc  alloy,  having  originated  in  the 
factory  of  Liebert  &  Dehnicke.  Of  what  avail  the  charm- 
ing secretaire  and  the  writing  paper  with  the  golden  coro- 
net stamped  on  it,  of  which  Mr.  Dehnicke  had  immediately 
ordered  five  hundred  sheets  ?  There  was  nobody  to  rejoice 
with  her,  nobody  whom  her  longing  brought  to  her  side. 

She  would  often  seat  herself  at  the  piano  and  let  her 
fingers  stray  over  the  keys.  But  she  did  not  get  the  pleas- 
ure out  of  playing  that  she  had  anticipated.  Her  father's 
discipline  had  long  lost  its  effects.  She  had  forgotten  the 
pieces  she  had  once  known  by  heart,  and  she  lacked  the 
calm  and  patience  to  learn  all  over  again. 

Yes,  it  was  strange  what  disquiet  would  seize  her  the 
instant  she  touched  the  keys,  a  feeling  of  dread,  an  an- 
ticipation of  impending  danger,  a  consciousness  of  her  own 
unworthiness. 

She  could  not  keep  on;  she  had  to  shut  down  the  lid 


r 

330  The  Song  of  Songs 

and  take  to  wandering  again  from  room  to  room  until  her 
legs  wearied  and  ten  o'clock  summoned  her  to  bed. 

In  those  joyless,  unoccupied  days,  a  piercing,  stinging 
desire  for  man  awoke  in  her,  causing  her  nerves  to  tingle 
and  a  sweet,  tormenting  shudder  to  thrill  her  body. 

The  whole  of  the  two  long  years  her  senses  had  been 
mute.  Tears  of  regret  had  drowned  that  which  the  colonel's 
senile  depravity  had  enkindled,  and  the  weeks  of  love  with 
Walter  von  Prell  had  fanned  into  lively  flames.  Drowned 
it  forever,  it  seemed.  But  there  it  stood  again,  transport- 
ing and  shaming  and  refusing  to  be  silenced  by  prayers  or 
reproach. 

Often  she  felt  she  would  have  to  run  out  on  the  street 
just  to  catch  the  glance  of  any  stranger — as  in  the  Dres- 
den days — and  see  desire  flare  up  in  eyes  veiled  with 
yearning. 

But  the  people  she  might  encounter  on  the  street  were 
rough  and  common.  The  mere  thought  of  them  made  her 
tremble. 

The  only  time  she  went  out  was  to  visit  her  former  land- 
lady. 

The  walk  lasted  a  full  hour,  and  before  she  had  reached 
her  former  home,  many  a  naive  admirer,  many  a  keen 
houlevardier,  had  bobbed  up  beside  her  and  tried  to  enter 
into  a  pleasant  conversation.  She  always  ran  to  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  shaking  herself.  Sometimes,  yes,  some- 
times, she  would  have  liked  to  reply. 

When  she  lay  in  bed  with  closed  eyes,  she  dreamed  of 
strong-willed,  sharply  cut  men's  faces,  to  which  she  looked 
up  in  yielding  happiness. 

She  often  dreamed,  too,  of  Mr.  Dehnicke,  good,  sound, 
loyal  Mr.  Dehnicke. 

If  he  were  to  come  to  her  some  day  and  falter  in  that 
guilty  way  of  his  which  she  liked  so  well:    **I  love  you 


The  Song  of  Songs  331 

inordinately,  and  want  you  to  marry  me/'  what  would  she 
say  to  him? 

Each  time  she  thought  this  a  furtive  sense  of  comfort 
stole  over  her. 

As  for  the  man  who  hy  full  right  stood  closest  to  her, 
she  never  dreamed  of  him.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  when  her 
longings  did  not  know  where  to  strike  root,  those  anxious 
yet  blissful  November  nights  would  recur  to  her.  But  the 
part  of  hero  might  have  been  played  by  any  other  man  as 
well  as  Walter. 

Walter  himself  had  grown  to  be  a  sort  of  tyrannical 
conscience  with  her. 

She  loved  him — of  course!  How  could  she  help  loving 
him?  He  was  her  ** betrothed, ' *  and  he  was  working  for 
her.  But  sometimes,  when  she  stood  in  front  of  the  sofa 
and  felt  his  cold,  blue  eyes  resting  upon  her  haughtily 
and  masterfully,  and  she  recalled  the  sorry,  inconstant  lit- 
tle fellow  he  actually  had  been,  she  felt  a  desire  to  shake 
off  everything  that  came  from  him  and  held  her  under  a 
spell,  as  one  tries  to  rid  oneself  of  a  preposterous  night- 
mare. 

If  only  Mr.  Dehnicke  had  not  kept  alluding  to  him  with 
so  much  devotion  and  respect,  treating  himself  as  the 
modest  agent,  who  would  have  to  render  account  to  his  dear 
friend,  when  that  dear  friend  would  return  in  honour  and 
glory. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  came  punctually  twice  a  week  to  inquire 
after  her  health  and  drink  tea.  He  would  leave  in  time 
to  reach  his  office  before  it  was  closed  for  the  day.  These 
scant  hours  were  always  a  festival  for  her. 

What  wonder?  She  had  no  one  beside  him.  He  was 
the  only  person  who  bound  her  to  the  rest  of  the  world 
^nd  brought  incident  and  interest  into  her  life. 

She  spent  Ijpurs  in  fixing  up  the  tea  table,  in  trying 


332  The  Song  of  Songs 

different  ways  of  lighting  the  room,  in  arranging  the  flow- 
ers, and  standing  before  the  mirror — for  him. 

When  he  came  at  last  and  sat  opposite  her,  they  con- 
versed long  and  seriously  about  the  cares  that  oppressed 
him,  the  plans  he  was  revolving  in  his  mind,  his  disgust  at 
the  artists  who  considered  it  a  disgrace  to  work  for  the 
trade,  and  did  so  only  if  the  pistol  was  held  to  their  heads, 
and  then  disdainfully,  clenching  their  teeth ;  his  trashy  com- 
petitors, who  built  palaces  in  order  to  throw  dust  in  the 
eyes  of  the  buyers,  and  who  thereby  had  forced  him  to 
transform  his  good  old  business  place  in  accordance  with 
modern  ideas  of  decoration. 

Most  distressing  of  all  was  his  clientele.  The  artistic 
ideals  of  the  metropolis  in  a  measure  made  a  moral  demand 
upon  him  to  go  over  to  the  secession  and  place  on  the 
market  long-necked,  narrow-hipped  bodies  in  distorted  at- 
titudes. The  real  public,  however,  the  well-intentioned 
public  with  purchasing  power,  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  all  that  rubbish.  It  clung  to  knights  and  high-born 
dames,  to  maidens  plucking  flowers  or  carrying  water,  to 
fighting  stags  and  swinging  monkeys.  So  he  stood  between 
the  devil  and  the  deep  sea.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  dan- 
ger that  people  would  ridicule  him  as  old-fashioned,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  danger  of  losing  most  of  his  old  hereditary 
customers.  So  he  had  to  steer  carefully  along  a  middle 
course,  and  that  was  extremely  difficult. 

He  also  spoke  frequently  of  the  factory,  with  its  hun- 
dreds of  industrious  hands,  who  laboured  day  after  day 
for  the  prosperity  of  the  house;  and  of  the  alterations 
being  made  in  his  yard  and  sample  room,  which,  to  judge 
by  the  architect's  plans  and  the  sum  he  calculated  they 
would  cost,  would  produce  something  worth  seeing. 

But  what  doesn't  competition  force  a  man  to  do* 

Lilly  listened  with  shining  eyes. 


The  Song  of  Songs  333 

She  shared  in  all  his  activities.  She  wanted  to  see  every- 
thing and  experience  it  with  him,  not  only  the  renova- 
tion of  the  sample  room,  but  also  the  doings  in  the  fac- 
tory with  its  machines,  its  clatter  of  wheels,  its  hissing  of 
flames,  and  screeching  of  files.  She  never  wearied  of 
questioning.  She  had  to  know  how  the  workmen  looked 
and  behaved,  their  wages,  their  lot  in  life,  and  what  be- 
came of  them.  She  felt  that  there  in  his  factory  was  real 
existence,  while  her  life  was  nothing  but  a  dull,  idle  wak- 
ing dream. 

**0h,  how  happy  you  must  be,''  she  often  cried  out  ad- 
miringly, *Ho  have  so  many  souls  in  your  keeping!" 

**If  the  whole  bunch  of  them  didn't  keep  you  in  a  stew 
all  the  time,"  he  rejoined. 

But  she  would  not  admit  the  qualification. 

He  was  certainly  a  beneficent  god  to  them  all,  she  said, 
even  if  he  did  not  feel  it  himself.  He  must  be,  because  of 
his  power  and  his  good  heart. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  gladly  listened  to  such  expressions.  While 
she  was  speaking  he  would  jump  up  abruptly,  as  if  seized 
by  a  mighty,  revolutionary  idea,  pace  up  and  down  the 
room  excitedly,  then  stop  in  front  of  her  and  stare  down 
at  her  with  a  dark  solicitous  look  in  his  eyes,  apparently 
unable  to  reach  some  great  decision  against  which  he  was 
struggling. 

Lilly  pretended  not  to  notice  his  behaviour,  though  she 
knew  exactly  what  was  fermenting  in  his  soul. 

**Let  him  alone,  don't  help  him,"  she  thought.  *'He 
must  do  whatever  he  wants  to  do  of  his  own  impulse. 
Otherwise  he  will  bear  me  a  grudge." 

If  only  there  hadn't  been  that  hateful  sense  of  duty 
toward  Walter,  which,  like  herself,  Mr.  Dehnicke  probably 
felt  only  in  part,  and  shammed  as  a  matter  of  decorum. 

There  was  something  else  that  gave  her  qualms.     Al- 


334  rriie  Song  of  Songs 

though  he  had  promised  to,  he  had  never  fulfilled  the  wish 
she  had  expressed  to  see  his  factory. 

However,  he  spoke  openly  of  his  mother,  and  did  not 
shrink  from  confessing  how  greatly  she  had  influenced 
him,  though  Lilly  could  read  into  his  words  that  he  wished 
for  more  freedom  to  develop  his  powers.  When  his  father 
had  died  twelve  years  before,  he  had  been  a  minor,  and 
had  had  to  yield  to  his  mother's  guidance.  The  old  lady 
continued  to  maintain  her  authority.  Dehnicke  discussed 
each  undertaking  with  her,  and  if  she  approved,  it  was 
executed,  even  if  he  did  not  concur. 

Lilly  felt  a  dull  terror  arise  within  her  of  that  old  lady 
who  sat  commandingly  in  her  arm-chair  behind  those  re- 
spectable porcelain  flower  pots,  and  directed  the  conduct 
of  so  powerful  a  man  as  Lilly's  benefactor. 

Her  heart  would  contract  when  she  imagined  her  first 
meeting  with  the  old  lady. 

•        •        • 

Before  Christmas  Lilly  had  more  work  to  do.  Two 
dozen  transparencies  had  been  ordered  and  had  to  be  com- 
pleted before  the  holidays.  24  x  30=720.  Well,  she  could 
see  ahead  again. 

For  the  first  time  in  four  years  she  forgot  to  send  her 
mother  a  Christmas  gift.  To  compensate,  she  made  a 
particularly  ** poetic''  lamp  shade  and  had  it  delivered 
anonymously  to  Mr.  Dehnicke 's  mother  the  day  before 
Christmas.  She  herself  did  not  know  why  she  did  this. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  sort  of  propitiatory  offering,  such  as 
timid  souls  were  wont  to  sacrifice  to  unknown  gods  as  an 
expiation  for  unknown  sins. 

Counting  upon  her  friend's  coming,  though  by  no 
means  certain  he  would,  she  had  made  a  little  heap  of  her 
gifts  for  him,  and  at  the  fall  of  dusk  with  throbbing  heart 
began  to  listen  for  the  ring  of  the  door  bell. 


The  Song  of  Songs  335 

Her  fears  were  idle.  At  half  past  five  he  appeared 
loaded  with  parcels.  He  had  displayed  tact  in  his  choice 
of  the  simple  presents — things  she  still  needed  in  the  apart- 
ment, a  few  embroidered  collars,  a  boa,  because  she  had  to 
be  careful  of  her  sables,  and  a  few  little  pieces  from  his 
factory  to  adorn  the  empty  top  of  her  secretaire.  At  each 
of  her  exclamations  of  delight  he  protested  mildly.  The 
things  really  came  from  Walter,  as  she  knew. 

**And  what  comes  from  you?*'  she  asked. 

** Nothing,''  he  replied,  turning  his  palms  upward. 

**I  know  of  something  you  could  give  me  that  Walter 
has  nothing  to  do  with. ' ' 

** What's  that?" 

**Show  me  your  factory.'* 

This  time  he  did  not  evade  her  request.  A  date  was 
immediately  set — the  first  workday  after  New  Year,  when 
everything  would  be  in  running  order  again. 

Then  Mr.  Dehnicke  added  with  an  embarrassed  air: 

**But  please  wear  something  dark  and  simple." 

**Why?"  asked  Lilly,  frightened.  **Do  I  usually  dress 
conspicuously?"  She  felt  as  if  some  one  had  boxed  her 
ears. 

**0h,  not  that.  But  your  good  clothes  might  be  soiled." 
•        •        • 

On  January  the  second  at  about  noon  Lilly  stood  in 
front  of  the  house  in  Alte  'Jakobstrasse,  which  she  had  not 
seen  since  she  had  paid  Mr.  Dehnicke  that  memorable  first 
visit  in  his  office. 

**It  has  almost  turned  out  to  be  a  path  of  destiny  after 
all, ' '  she  thought,  and  looked  up  furtively  at  the  porcelain 
flower  pots  in  the  second  story  windows.  She  started. 
It  seemed  to  her  a  white  head  had  moved  behind  the  lace 
curtains. 

'*That  smacks  of  a  guilty  conscience/'  she  thought,  and 


336  The  Song  of  Songs 

with  awed,  sidelong  glances  walked  past  the  door  that 
opened  upon  the  broad,  laurel-lined  staircase  which 
her  unworthy  feet  might  never  tread  until  she  had  been 
received  into  the  circle  of  bourgeois  virtue. 

But  the  carriage  gate  stood  hospitably  open.  The  scaf- 
folding had  been  removed,  and  the  imitation  marble  of 
walls  and  columns  shone  challengingly  in  their  variegated 
colours.  The  magnificence  of  the  court-yard  beyond  op- 
pressed her  heart  again. 

The  office  building  had  also  undergone  changes.  The 
dun-coloured  plaster  had  given  place  to  a  broad  sandstone 
fagade  adorned  by  the  busts  of  eminent  artists;  and  gilded 
railings  gleamed  where  once  the  sorry-looking  iron  stair- 
case had  been. 

There  was  her  friend  hurrying  down  the  steps  to  meet 
her. 

Despite  the  stinging  cold  he  wore  no  hat.  In  holding  out 
his  hand  to  her  he  cast  a  furtive  look  of  scrutiny  at  all 
the  windows.     It  seemed  he,  too,  had  a  guilty  conscience. 

He  first  led  her  to  the  sample  room.  Its  brand-new 
magnificence  exceeded  her  boldest  expectations.  Columned 
halls  with  coffered  ceilings  stretched  out  in  a  long  vista 
as  in  a  museum.  There  were  endless  rows  of  tables  and 
cases,  on  which,  gleaming  with  gold  and  silver  lights, 
sparkling  with  crystal  prisms,  glowing  with  the  hot  red 
of  copper,  or  shading  off  softly  into  the  light  green  of  the 
patina,  stood  thousands  of  works  of  German  art  and  in- 
dustry, ** imitation  bronzes,''  destined  to  fill  the  show  win- 
dows of  shops  and  carry  the  semblance  of  display-loving 
prosperity  into  the  huts  of  the  poor.  ^ 

There  were  corpulent  begging  friars,  dancing  gypsy 
girls  clad  in  boleros,  ogling  dandies,  postillions  blowing 
horns,  pecking  chickens,  dogs  fetching  game,  calenders  set 
in  horse-shoe  frames,  cigar  clips  in  the  shape  of  little 


The  Song  of  Songs  337 

champagne  bottles;  tall  pelicans  holding  lamps  in  their 
bills ;  figurines  of  men  and  women  stretching  up  their  arms, 
just  as  in  Mr.  Kellermann's  studio,  though  here  not  aim- 
lessly, since  they  bore  aloft  vases,  candelabra  and  bowls. 
There  were  arbours  screening  love  couples,  with  red  elec- 
tric bulbs  hidden  in  the  foliage;  brownies  beside  shining 
mushrooms,  sea  shells  to  serve  as  ash  trays,  snakes  writh- 
ing about  the  chalices  of  flowers,  or  about  porcelain  eggs, 
or  copper  dice.  The  whole  pitifulness  of  a  vulgar  sense 
of  art  seemed  to  have  crept  into  this  glittering  conglomera- 
tion and  been  concentrated  there  ready  to  scatter  to  all 
quarters  of  the  globe. 

When  Lilly  gave  her  friend  a  questioning  or  astonished 
look  because  of  some  monstrosity,  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders and  observed: 

*' That's  what  the  people  want." 

Despite  some  dissatisfaction  with  what  she  saw  Lilly 
could  have  walked  up  and  down  for  hours  amid  all  that 
sparkle.  She  felt  she  belonged  there  by  right.  Had  she 
been  asked  for  her  opinion  she  would  have  said  without  a 
moment's  reflection:  ** Throw  this  away,  and  this,  and 
this."  But  nobody  appealed  to  her  judgment,  and  every- 
thing went  its  way  without  her. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  then  took  her  to  the  factory 

Unfortunately  the  foundry,  in  which  the  basic  part  of 
all  the  work  is  done,  happened  just  then  to  be  closed. 
Through  an  open  window  Lilly  saw  the  black  gaping 
depths  of  the  hearths,  about  which  dirty  troughs  were 
standing,  and  over  all,  over  chimney-hoods  and  vessels,  a 
thick  layer  of  ashes. 

They  descended  a  flight  of  dirty  steps  and  passed 
through  damp  rooms  smelling  of  all  sorts  of  poisons,  where 
rows  of  mighty  vats  stood  filled  with  vile  fluids,  and 
elderly  men  bustled  about,  who  looked  like  sombre  schol- 


338  The  Song  of  Songs 

ars,  whereas  they  were  nothing  more  than  mere  labourers. 
At  Lilly's  entrance  they  cast  a  look  of  surprise  at  her, 
then  concerned  themselves  about  her  no  further.  And 
they  did  not  greet  their  employer. 

**This  is  the  galvanising  room,''  explained  Mr.  Deh- 
nicke,  and  continued  a^  they  walked  past  the  vats,  **The 
nickle  bath,  steel  bath,  silver  bath,  and  so  on." 

Up  in  a  loft  surrounded  by  an  iron  netting,  the  wheels 
of  a  machine  whirled,  and  vari-coloured  electric  bulbs  glit- 
tered among  them. 

''That's  where  the  electric  current  is  generated  which 
goes  through  the  different  baths." 

Lilly  did  not  understand,  but  she  enjoyed  the  incon- 
ceivable rapidity  with  which  the  wheels  span  around  and 
the  buzzing  sound  they  made. 

In  the  room  where  the  chasing  was  done  many  men 
stood  at  long  tables  industriously  at  work  smoothing  down 
the  unevennesses  of  the  cast  metal,  and  preparing  the  sep- 
arate parts  of  an  ornament  for  joining.  The  joining  was 
done  in  the  next  room,  where  the  flames  of  the  blowpipes 
darted  and  hissed  and  little  clouds  of  metallic  vapour  shot 
sparks  into  the  air.  At  each  workman's  place  lay  small 
heaps  of  burnished  limbs,  which  made  one  feel  sorry  for 
the  truncated  body  from  which  they  seemed  to  have  been 
severed. 

In  the  next  room  the  *thinner  parts  were  beaten  into 
shape  in  iron  dies.  It  was  here  that  the  flowers  and  foliage 
were  made,  the  ribbons  and  vines  and  arabesques,  every- 
thing that  curled  and  dangled  daintily.  The  workingmen 
looked  all  the  coarser  and  unwieldier  by  contrast.  They 
scarcely  glanced  up  when  Lilly  and  Mr.  Dehnicke  entered, 
and  continued  to  hammer  as  if  stupefied  into  dealing  those 
blows. 

Lilly  had  a  keener  eye  for  the  appearance  and  bearing 


The  Song  of  Songs  339 

of  the  men  than  for  the  work  they  turned  out.  She  made 
comparisons,  decided  who  was  well  off  and  who  in  dis- 
tress, who  took  pleasure  in  his  work  and  who  went  through 
the  day's  toil  doggedly,  because  driven  to  it  by  need. 
Each  shop  had  its  peculiar  physiognomy.  In  one  the  ma- 
jority looked  fresh  and  agile,  in  another  galled  and  weary. 

And  now,  as  often  before  when  Mr.  Dehnicke  had  spoken 
to  her  of  his  employes,  a  senseless  desire  arose  in  Lilly 
to  watch  over  the  fate  of  all  these  people,  help  where  help 
was  necessary,  bring  sunshine  to  the  gloomy,  and  relief  to 
the  suffering.  But  she  took  good  care  not  to  acquaint  Mr. 
Dehnicke  with  her  absurd  ideas. 

**Now  we  will  see  the  most  delicate  of  all  the  opera- 
tions,'' said  Mr.  Dehnicke.  **It  is  putting  on  the  patina, 
which  gives  the  pieces  their  real  style." 

He  opened  the  door  to  the  next  shop,  and  the  smell  of  a 
thousand  poisons  again  assailed  Lilly's  nostrils. 

Here  there  were  women  at  work  also,  side  by  side  with 
the  men.  They  applied  varnish  and  acids  and  brushed 
and  rubbed.  They  looked  sallow  and  jaded.  At  Lilly's 
entrance  they  were  so  taken  aback  that  they  dropped  their 
brushes  and  cloths  and  stared  at  her  in  utter  astonish- 
ment. 

**One  would  have  to  begin  with  these  to  win  the  confi- 
dence of  all,"  Li^ly  thought,  and  gave  them  a  cordial  nod. 

But  they  seemed  to  take  her  greeting  as  mockery  or 
blame,  and  turned  back  to  their  work  with  a  grimace  well- 
nigh  scornful. 

In  the  packing  room,  where  women  and  children  were 
employed  exclusively,  Lilly's  appearance  produced  a  hap- 
pier impression.  The  girls  laughed  and  whispered,  and 
nudged  one  another  with  their  elbows. 

The  only  one  who  paid  no  attention  to  her  was  a  preg- 
nant woman,  who  seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to  keep  from 


340  The  Song  of  Songs 

sinking  to  the  floor.  She  held  her  drooping  lips  tightly 
compressed  and  a  vivid  red  spotted  her  cheeks.  Neverthe- 
less her  arms  moved  in  feverish  haste  wrapping  one  paper 
wisp  after  the  other  about  the  limbs  of  the  figure  standing 
on  the  table  in  front  of  her,  and  inclining  now  to  the  right, 
now  to  the  left  under  her  manipulations. 

Lilly  led  Mr.  Dehnicke  aside  and  asked: 

**May  I  give  her  something?" 

"She's  being  provided  for,'*  he  replied,  unpleasantly 
affected,  it  seemed.     He  quickly  opened  another  door. 

* '  This  leads  to  the  store  room,  where  the  pieces  are  kept 
until  sold,  with  the  exception,  of  course,  of  those  which  are 
made  to  order." 

Lilly  looked  down  a  dimly  lighted  corridor,  from  which 
the  cold  air  blew  upon  her.  On  the  shelves  and  stands 
stood  endless  rows  of  phantom  beings,  shapeless  in  their 
grey  paper  envelopes. 

*'0h,  how  queer,"  said  Lilly,  shivering  a  little,  and  pre- 
paring to  walk  along  the  narrow  passageway.  The  very 
same  instant,  however,  she  noticed  her  friend  start  as  in 
fright,  and  cast  a  helpless  look  about  him.  Then  he 
stepped  in  front  of  her  and  blocked  the  way. 

*' What's  the  matter?"  asked  Lilly,  surprised. 

He  turned  colour  and  said : 

**We  had  better  not  go  in  there.  We'll  go  somewhere 
else.  Besides,  there's  nothing  to  look  at  there,  not  a  thing. 
You  yourself  see  there  isn't." 

He  planted  himself  squarely  in  front  of  her,  so  that 
she  could  not  possibly  look  down  the  long  line  of  shelves. 

This,  of  course,  merely  heightened  her  curiosity. 

*'But  I  would  like  to,"  she  said,  and  assumed  the  over- 
bearing, haughty  expression  with  which  she  was  wont  to 
get  her  way  with  him. 

"No,  no,"  he  burst  out  hastily.    "It's  a  business  secret. 


The  Song  of  Songs  341 

I  mayn't  betray  it  to  a  soul.  Even  the  employes  are  not 
allowed  to  come  here.    Really  I  can 't  permit  it. ' ' 

**Then  you  shouldn't  have  brought  me  here  at  all,"  said 
Lilly,  feeling  insulted ;  and  she  turned  back. 

He  poured  forth  excuses,  grew  hoarse  with  excitement, 
and  coughed  and  choked.  Then  he  led  her  back  over  the 
resplendent  mosaic  of  the  yard  to  the  gateway  with  its 
imitation  marble  columns,  through  which  a  chilly  draught 
was  blowing. 

*'You  will  catch  a  cold,"  said  Lilly  to  hasten  her  de- 
parture. 

His  face  lighted  up  with  a  brilliant  idea. 

''Besides,  you  know,"  he  said,  ''the  store  room  wasn't 
heated." 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that  sooner,"  rejoined 
Lilly,  holding  out  her  hand  with  a  smile  of  partial  recon- 
ciliation. She  was  really  sorry  for  him  in  his  helpless 
solicitude. 

Nevertheless  she  continued  to  feel  hurt.  And  a  bit  dis- 
turbed. The  day  she  had  been  looking  forward  to  so 
happily  for  months  had  ended  in  a  discord. 

And  no  matter  how  much  she  pressed  him  later,  Mr. 
Dehnicke  refused  to  tell  her  what  mystery  lay  concealed  in 
his  store  room. 


CHATER  VII 

Lilly  began  to  ail.  She  suffered  from  headaches,  heart- 
burn, lassitude,  insomnia  and  occasional  attacks  of  vertiga 

The  physician,  called  in  at  Mr.  Dehnicke's  insistence, 
was  one  of  those  extremely  busy  men  who  make  the  rounds 
of  numberless  houses  a  day.  First  he  took  a  good  look  at 
the  apartment — a  setting  he  seemed  to  know — then,  upon 
a  cursory  examination,  prescribed  social  distractions,  walks, 
and  iron,  much  iron. 

Social  distractions  had  to  be  dispensed  with;  there  was 
no  opportunity  for  them.  Taking  walks  was  not  so  easy 
either.  Lilly  did  not  care  to  stroll  about  alone,  and  Mr. 
Dehnicke,  the  only  person  to  accottipany  her,  preferred 
not  to  be  seen  on  the  street  with  her  too  frequently.  In 
order,  he  said,  not  to  compromise  her,  though  in  all  likeli- 
hood the  truth  was,  he  feared  becoming  conspicuous  by 
appearing  in  public  with  that  exotic,  flowerlike  beauty. 

For  no  matter  what  happened,  no  matter  that  trouble, 
want  and  all  sorts  of  humiliations  swept  over  her,  no  mat- 
ter that  boredom  and  displeasure  with  herself  crushed  her 
spirits,  Lilly's  appearance  never  lost  thereby. 

On  the  contrary,  the  delicate  milky  whiteness  of  her 
cheeks,  which  before  had  been  a  golden  brown,  lent  her  a 
new,  soft  charm.  The  great,  narrow,  long-lashed  eyes 
with  the  heavily  drooping  lids — those  improbable  Lilly 
eyes — now  had  a  weary,  languishing  brilliance,  as  if  they 
veiled  all  the  painful  riddles  of  the  universe.  Moreover, 
the  last  year  had  given  back  to  her  the  slim,  regal  figure 
of  her  maiden  days  and  taken  away  the  womanly  peace- 

342 


'  The  Song  of  Songs  343 

fulness  it  had  acquired  at  Lischnitz.  No  wonder  that 
many  a  head  turned  after  her  and  many  an  appreciative, 
envious  glance  was  sent  askance  at  her  companion,  who 
was  considerably  shorter  than  she. 

Mr.  Dehnicke  was  aware  of  all  this,  and  being  a  staid, 
respectable  business  man,  and  not  wishing  to  be  the  object 
of  gossip,  he  preferred  to  stay  indoors  with  her. 

About  the  middle  of  February  she  received  an  invitation 
by  mail  from  Mr.  Kellermann,  whom  she  had  not  seen  for 
several  months. 

GREAT  CARNIVAL 

KELLERMANN  STUDIO 

Magic  Lantern  Show,  JFlirtation,  Opportunity  for  Crimes 
Passionels,  Cream  Kisses,  and  other  Attractions 

That  seemed  like  distraction  enough,  and  Mr.  Dehnicke, 
who,  it  happened,  had  also  been  invited,  was  so  energetic 
in  his  persuasions  that  he  finally  conquered  her  timidity 
and  induced  her  to  go. 

But  when  the  day  for  the  carnival  came  Lilly  was 
seized  by  a  great  dread  of  it,  and  at  the  last  moment  felt 
like  withdrawing  from  her  engagement. 

She  saw  herself  running  the  gauntlet  of  a  gaping  crowd 
of  sardonic  sneerers,  who  whispered  the  story  of  her  rise 
and  fall  behind  her  back.  She  saw  herself  neglected  and 
avoided,  the  object  of  derisive  side  glances.  She  passed 
through  all  the  tortures  of  the  d6classees,  who  must  drag 
through  life  with  the  mark  of  the  sinner  caught  in  the  act 
branded  on  their  brows. 

She  chose  the  most  beautiful  of  her  Dresden  dresses, 
which  in  the  two  years  had  grown  to  be  the  very  height  of 
fashion.     It  was  a  white  Empire  gown  embroidered  with 


344  The  Song  of  Songs 

gold  vines.  She  arranged  a  narrow  bracelet  in  her  hair 
like  a  diadem,  and  loosely  laid  over  her  head  an  oriental 
veil  shot  with  threads  of  gold.  In  case  of  need  it  would 
serve  to  conceal  the  bareness  of  her  bosom.  When  she 
had  completed  her  toilet,  she  seemed  to  herself  so  repul- 
sive and  conspicuous  that  this  alone  was  sufficient  ground 
for  not  showing  herself. 

She  did  not  venture  to  cherish  a  faint  hope  until  her 
friend  came  to  fetch  her.  He  saw  her,  and  held  on  to  the 
door  knob,  uttering  a  slight  cry  of  astonishment. 

*'Am  I  all  right?'*  she  asked  with  a  diffident  laugh, 
which  entreated  encouragement. 

Instead  of  replying  he  ran  up  and  down  the  room 
breathing  heavily  and  choking  over  inarticulate  words — a 
mute  language  which  Lilly  immediately  understood. 

While  sitting  beside  him  in  the  coupe,  she  succumbed 
to  another  attack  of  dread. 

*'You  will  stay  right  next  to  me,  won't  you?"  she  im- 
plored. **You  won't  leave  me,  and  you  won't  let  a 
stranger  speak  to  me,  will  you?" 

He  promised  all  she  wanted. 

Four  flights  up — a  way  she  well  knew. 

The  landing  outside  Mr.  Kellermann's  door  was  filled 
with  clothes-racks,  on  which  awe-inspiring  furs  and  hu- 
miliating lace  mantles  hung. 

She  clung  to  his  arm. 

Now  to  her  ruin ! 

The  large  anteroom,  into  which  not  a  single  ray  of  light 
penetrated  in  the  daytime,  and  which  Mr.  Kellermann  used 
as  a  kitchen,  bedroom  and  dining-room,  had  been  con- 
verted into  a  sort  of  fairy  forest.  Vari-coloured  Chinese 
lanterns  swung  on  the  branches  of  pine  trees,  and  in  their 
dim  red  glow  several  couples  sat  smiling  and  whispering 
on  narrow  bamboo  benches.     They  were  so  absorbed  in 


The  Song  of  Songs  345 

themselves  that  they  paid  little  heed  to  the  new  arrivals. 

All  the  more  animated  was  Lilly's  reception  in  the 
studio,  which  was  filled  with  a  bright,  glittering  mass  of 
humanity.  A  general  **ah,"  then  absolute  silence.  A 
passageway  naturally  formed  itself,  down  which  the  couple 
seemed  to  be  expected  to  pass.  Lilly  made  a  gesture,  as  if 
to  hide  behind  her  friend.  But  he  reached  only  up  to  her 
nose. 

At  the  same  instant  Mr.  Kellermann  came  hurrying  up 
to  them.  He  wore  a  brown  velvet  costume  consisting  of 
a  jacket,  knee-length  breeches,  and  a  Phrygian  cap.  Every- 
body, in  fact,  wore  what  seemed  to  him  original  and  be- 
coming. 

* '  Welcome,  goddess,  queen ! "  he  cried  in  a  voice  for  the 
entire  company  to  hear;  and  since  nothing  better  occurred 
to  him,  he  pressed  kisses  on  her  gloved  arm  from  wrist  to 
elbow. 

Then  he  begged  to  be  allowed  to  show  her  the  inconj' 
parable  arrangements  of  his  new  court  of  love.  She  fol- 
lowed him,  whispering  to  her  friend  to  be  sure  to  remain 
at  her  side. 

Electric  lights  had  been  hung  in  the  open  air  directly 
over  the  skylight,  converting  it  into  a  many-coloured,  starry 
heaven.  On  looking  up  one  really  thought  a  thousand 
little  suns  were  shining  down  from  out  of  the  night. 

Eugs  and  ivy  vines  divided  the  left  side,  where  the  gable 
roof  sloped  downward,  into  a  number  of  small  arbours,  the 
entrance  of  each  of  which  was  hung  with  gaily  coloured 
bead  portieres.  And  over  each  hung  a  great  printed 
placard  bearing  a  highly  suggestive  inscription. 

The  first  was  called  '* Arbour  of  Lax  Morality."  Lilly 
turned  a  startled  look  upon  her  guide,  who  observed  with 
a  smile: 

*' That's  only  the  beginning,  meant  for  bread-and-butter- 


346  The  Song  of  Songs 

misses  and  little  afternoon-tea-souls  like  you/'  And 
added : 

"This  is  but  an  intimation 
Of  more  wicked  adjuration/* 

while  he  pointed  to  the  second  entrance,  the  inscription 
over  which  read:    ** Arbour  of  Wicked  Vows.*' 

**0h,  dreadful!"  she  cried  in  righteous  dismay.  Kel- 
lermann  rolled  with  laughter. 

She  could  not  help  reading  the  next  two  signs,  **  Arbour 
of  the  Right  to  Motherhood"  and  *' Arbour  of  the  Cry  for 
Man,"  but  she  said  nothing  more. 

There  were  two  more  divisions,  a  ** Powder  Room"  and 
an  ** Arbour  of  Perversity."     This  she  did  not  understand. 

"Now  we'll  go  to  the  Criminal  Side,"  said  Mr.  Keller- 
mann,  and  led  her  diagonally  across  the  room,  making  way 
for  her  among  the  people,  who  at  her  approach  began  to 
nod  and  hum  and  buzz,  but  with  no  trace  of  malice  or  con- 
tempt. The  very  reverse.  It  was  an  ovation,  a  suppressed 
demonstration  of  her  triumph. 

Her  breast  expanded.  A  faint,  humble  sensation  of 
happiness  stole  over  her  body  like  hot  wine.  She  threw 
back  her  scarf.  She  no  longer  needed  to  feel  ashamed 
of  her  bare  throat  and  shoulders.  In  the  looks  turned 
upon  her  she  read  that  no  one  would  scoff  at  her. 

She  did  not  succeed  in  reaching  the  Criminal  Side.  So 
many  gentlemen  wanted  to  be  presented  to  her  that  Mr. 
Kellermann  had  all  he  could  do  telling  off  their  names. 

From  now  on  the  carnival  became  something  absolutely 
unreal,  a  dream  land,  a  fairy  meadow,  on  which  strange, 
large-eyed  flowers  were  blooming  and  sweet  scents  set 
heads  a-reeling,  and  a  haze  sparkled  with  red  suns;  where 
people  laughed  and  jested  and  whispered,  where  bold,  un- 
heard-of compliments  floated  in  the  air,  and  everything 
existed  for  Lilly  to  caress  and  admire  and  love. 


The  Song  of  Songs  347 

Yes,  she  loved  them  all,  the  men  and  the  women,  as 
soon  as  she  met  them.  They  were  all  good,  noble  souls, 
scintillating  with  delightful  conceits  and  ready  to  perform 
friendly  services.  Each  awakened  a  new  hope,  each 
brought  a  new  joy. 

She  felt  how  her  cheeks  glowed,  what  blissful  intoxica- 
tion was  burning  in  her  eyes.  And  he  at  whom  she  looked 
with  those  eyes  would  quiver,  and  respond  with  a  gleam 
from  his  own,  which  seemed  to  be  the  reflection  of  her 
happiness. 

That  was  no  longer  another  strange  Lilly,  who  laughed 
and  returned  jest  with  jest  and  went  from  arm  to  arm 
with  a  faint  pang  of  regret.  That  was  she  herself,  doubly, 
triply  herself. 

Sometimes,  when  a  gentleman  became  too  bold  in  his 
talk,  when  an  unlicenced  double  entendre  seemed  to  lurk 
behind  a  joke,  and  Lilly  became  nervous  and  did  not  know 
what  to  say  and  involuntarily  looked  around  for  help,  she 
always  found  her  friend  somewhere  near  at  hand,  glanc- 
ing over  at  her  as  if  by  mere  chance. 

That  gave  her  a  delicious  sense  of  peace,  a  consciousness 
of  being  cared  for  and  hidden  away,  so  that  she  could 
be  even  merrier  than  before,  and  need  not  take  offence  at 
audacities. 

Once  she  overheard  behind  her: 

** Who's  the  lucky  dog  who  has  her  for  his  mistress T' 

The  answer  was: 

**A  little  polished  Mr.  Snooks.     There  he  stands.'' 

This  made  her  stop  and  think  a  moment,  though  she 
could  not  know  to  whom  it  referred.  But  in  the  whirl  of 
incidents  it  soon  passed  from  her  mind. 

Oh,  what  people  she  met ! 

There  were  young  blades  in  dress  suits  and  white  flow- 
ered waistcoats,  who  paid  her  mad  court,  and  asked,  as  if 


348  The  Song  of  Songs 

casually,  though  their  eagerness  was  visible  under  the 
nonchalance  of  their  exterior:  ''What  is  your  day  at 
home?" 

Alas,  she  had  no  day  at  home.  She  lived  a  very  retired 
life. 

There  were  sombre  philosophers,  who  agonised  over  the 
world  ^s  pain,  wore  very  long  hair  and  monstrous  neckties. 
They  spoke  to  Lilly  of  *' spiritual  high  pressure''  and  the 
''specific  gravity  of  related  individualities,"  themes  which 
did  Lilly 's  soul  good.  One  of  them  kept  addressing  her  as 
**Your  Excellency."  When  she  asked  him  why,  he  looked 
staggered  and  said  he  had  heard  she  was — then  he  broke 
off  and  substituted  the  paltry  joke  that  she  so  "excelled" 
all  the  women  present  he  could  find  no  more  suitable  title. 

One  of  the  men  was  an  exuberant  old  high  liver,  whose 
name  she  had  read  with  awe  on  many  a  beautiful  picture. 
She  would  rather  have  kissed  the  hem  of  his  garment  than 
see  him  dance  about  her  comically  trying  to  be  youthful. 

There  were  many  others  who  aroused  her  curiosity;  but 
she  could  learn  nothing  of  their  rank  or  character. 

The  company  even  boasted  a  real  prince,  a  pale,  blond, 
very  young  man,  who  did  not  venture  to  ask  to  be  intro- 
duced to  Lilly,  because  his  love  was  always  in  threatening 
proximity.     So  he  kept  making  detours  about  her. 

The  women,  of  course,  were  more  distant  than  the  men, 
though  those  of  them  who  came  to  make  her  acquaintance 
gave  themselves  up  to  her  with  effusive  warmth. 

One  was  a  bedutiful,  voluptuous  brunette  with  unsteady, 
glowing  eyes  and  a  smile  betokening  wild  abandon. 

**We  must  get  to  know  each  other,"  she  said.  **I  will 
introduce  you  to  my  friend,  and  later  we'll  take  supper 
together  like  a  cosy  little  family." 

Another  was  an  extremely  slim  young  woman  with 
bright  blue  eyes,  who  towered  above  most  of  the  men. 


The  Song  of  Songs  349 

She  wandered  through  the  throng  serene  and  uncon- 
cerned in  a  long,  white  silk  secession  robe,  looking  like  a 
phantom.  She  spoke  without  moving  her  head  and  smiled 
without  drawing  her  lips.  She  had  come  from  Denmark 
to  study  painting  and  at  the  same  time  *'live  life>"  as  she 
expressed  it. 

**Who  are  you?"  she  asked  Lilly.  **You  are  different 
from  the  rest.  The  woman  who  comes  here  and  does  not 
want  to  be  swept  along  in  the  current  must  have  strong 
arms.  *  * 

She  boldly  threw  back  the  wide  sleeves  of  her  gown  as 
far  as  her  shoulders  and  exposed  two  lily-white,  wonder- 
fully curved  arms,  gleaming  like  marble  pillars. 

Thereupon  she  wandered  further. 

The  third  was  an  extremely  light-haired,  very  elegant 
woman,  no  longer  young.  Her  pretty,  good-humoured  face 
was  tanned  by  the  open  air.  With  a  merry  flash  of  her 
eyes  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Lilly,  as  if  they  were  old 
acquaintances. 

*'0h,  how  sweet  and  lovely  you  are!"  she  said  softly. 
**We  have  all  flown  here  and  don't  know  how.  But  where 
do  you  come  from?  My  name  is" — she  mentioned  the 
name  of  a  great  musician  who  in  Kilian  Czepanek's  home 
had  been  revered  as  semi-divine. 

**Yes,  Welter's  former  wife — ^that's  who  I  am,"  she 
added  gaily,  and  turned  to  the  gentleman  on  whose  arm 
she  had  walked  up  to  Lilly. 

** Another  general's  wife,  like  myself,"  thought  Lilly, 
looking  after  her. 

There  were  some  married  couples,  too ;  for  the  most  part 
extremely  young  and  extravagantly  clad,  who  at  first  kept 
together  timidly  and  looked  about  with  great,  astonished 
eyes,  and  later  frolicked  about  like  monkeys  set  at  liberty. 
One  couple  seemed  to  have  been  dragged  to  the  carnival 


350  "  The  Song  of  Songs 

as  a  practical  joke.    The  husband  tv  uine  compla- 

cent beery  German,  the  wife,  .i  g^-^'-.'.  •  -  at,  black-silk 
creature.     The  man,  Lilly  was  told,   ..  5  ''  nf. 

the  house,  a  well-to-do  baker,  who  had  been  invited  to  the 
carnival  as  a  reward  for  good-naturedly  having  permitted 
his  fourth  floor  to  be  turned  topsy-turvey.  But  the  couple 
by  no  means  felt  nervous  or  out  of  place.  They  made 
coarse,  clumsy  jokes,  and  were  always  surrounded  by  a 
group  of  laughing  auditors. 

About  ten  o'clock — Lilly  had  just  been  entangled  by 
one  of  the  long-haired  and  linenless  in  a  profound  dis- 
cussion of  false  human  values — ^when  all  of  a  sudden  a 
sort  of  cry  of  wrath  was  raised,  issuing  at  first  from  only 
one  or  two  throats,  then  swelling  to  a  loud  thunder.  Lilly 
distinguished  the  words  ** hunger'*  and  ** fodder." 

Mr.  Kellermann's  pacifying  voice  resounded  to  still  the 
clamour.  An  accident,  he  said,  had  occurred  to  interrupt 
the  spreading  of  the  bread  of  which  each  guest  would  re- 
ceive a  piece — a  poor  devil  of  an  artist  couldn't  afford  a 
more  abundant  repast.  He  had  hurriedly  sent  across  the 
street  for  what  was  missing,  and  would  the  gentlemen 
please  content  themselves  until  it  arrived?  As  for  those 
who  were  very  hungry  and  did  not  worry  about  the  taking 
of  human  life,  the  hosts  had  provided  arsenic  sandwiches 
and  strychnine  tarts,  which  were  to  be  found  in  the  closet 
marked  ** Poisons." 

The  whole  assemblage  made  a  dash  xur  the  Criminal 
Side,  where  for  the  sake  of  the  crimes  ptsionels  a  whole 
arsenal  of  deadly  instruments  had  been  prepared.  Gal- 
lows dangled  from  the  ceiling,  ladders  led  down  to  abysses, 
and  a  cannon  was  discharged.  The  company  immediately 
snatched  the  poisonous  sandwiches  from  the  sideboard,  and 
sometimes  even  absolute  strangers  offered  one  another  **a 
bite,"  like  school  children. 


The  Song  of  Songs  353 

such  words  as  *' sublime  mist'*  rhymed  with  ''amethyst/' 
and  ''super-desire"  with  "passionate  fire." 

Lilly  understood  not  a  word,  though  the  poem  must  have 
been  very  beautiful,  because  at  the  conclusion  the  gentle- 
men burst  into  wild  applause.  "Bravo!  Bravo!  Super- 
smoke!     More  Super-smoke!" 

The  sombre  poet,  who  naturally  interpreted  these  ex- 
clamations as  a  call  for  "cZa  capo/'  bowed  and  felt  flat- 
tered and  started  off  again:    "Super-Smoke,  an  Ode." 

He  found  he  was  in  for  it.  "Enough,  enough,"  came 
from  all  sides,  and  it  turned  out  that  the  gentlemen  had 
merely  wished  to  express  their  desire  for  something  smoke- 
able  in  the  language  of  super-men. 

The  next  to  ascend  the  platform  was  a  slim,  very  ele- 
gant gentleman  with  a  dark  brown  Van  Dyke  beard  and  a 
gleaming  monocle.  He  had  been  introduced  to  Lilly.  Dr. 
Salmoni  smiled  sadly,  and  held  his  curved  left  hand  close  to 
his  nose  to  scrutinise  his  long  nails.  His  intention,  he  said, 
was  to  draw  up  an  intellectual  inventory  of  the  evening. 
For  the  purpose  he  would  make  a  few  remarks  as  a  basis 
of  his  "so-to-speak  destructive  construction  of  this  social 
heterogeneity. ' ' 

With  that,  a  hailstorm  of  audacities  and  personalities 
came  rattling  down  on  the  heads  of  hosts  and  guests. 

Though  Lilly  understood  only  a  fraction  of  what  h^ 
said,  she  felt  she  had  to  blush  with  shame  for  each  person 
his  ill-natured  words  hit.  But,  strange  to  say,  nobody  took 
offence.  On  the  contrary,  each  one  upon  getting  his  rak- 
ing tried  to  outdo  the  others  in  noisy  applause. 

"What  a  happy  world,"  thought  Lilly,  "where  people 
have  become  absolutely  invulnerable  and  the  most  heinous 
sins  simply  add  to  their  honour." 

Her  own  misdeed,  from  which  she  had  suffered  so  long 


354  .  The  Song  of  Songs 

as  from  a  festering  sore,  suddenly  appeared  something  like 
a  child's  amiable  prank. 

**Was  it  idiocy  in  me  to  grieve  so?''  she  asked  herself, 
and  pushed  her  hips  downward  with  her  hands,  as  if  to 
brush  away  all  the  old  chains  from  her  limbs. 

The  elegant  doctor  could  deal  in  compliments  also. 
Each  of  the  lovely  women  received  her  little  bonbon  rolled 
in  pepper.  And  when  he  spoke  of  a  lotos  flower  that  had 
drifted  there  from  fairyland  and  still  seemed  to  dread  the 
glory  of  the  new  sun  shining  upon  it,  Lilly  again  saw  all 
glances  turned  upon  her. 

**But  let  her  take  courage,"  Dr.  Salmon!  continued. 
**  Should  she  need  some  one  to  help  her  dreamily  await  the 
night,  she  may  count,  I  feel  certain,  upon  every  one  of  us. " 

He  was  rewarded  with  the  enthusiastic  applause  of  all 
the  gentlemen,  and  Lilly  did  not  even  feel  ashamed. 

Upon  concluding,  and  after  gathering  in  a  harvest  of 
praise  from  the  auditors,  who  crowded  up  to  him — those 
who  had  gotten  the  hottest  ** roast"  were  the  most  eager — 
he  stepped  to  Lilly's  side  and  said  sotto  voce: 

**I  beg  your  pardon  most  humbly  for  having  mentioned 
you  in  the  same  breath  as  this  set.  People  on  our  level 
ought  to  have  a  tacit  code ;  they  ought  to  understand  each 
other  without  making  bald  declarations.  But  I  was  tired 
of  just  cracking  a  whip.  Besides,  I  may  assure  you,  I 
don\ always  play  the  fool." 

He  stuck  his  monocle  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  looked 
at  Lilly  with  his  sharp  grey  eyes  as  if  to  tear  her  heart  to 
tatters. 

*' People  on  our  level,"  he  had  said.  Lilly  felt  flattered 
that  so  clever  and  prominent  a  man  should  rank  her  with 
turn. 

The   next   performer  was   a   ** minstrel,"   a   mercurial, 


The  Song  of  Songs  355 

black  young  fellow,  who  accompanied  himself  on  the  man- 
dolin. He  struck  up  a  highly  sentimental  ditty,  like  a 
troubadour's. 

The  lady*8  name  I  will  not  cite, 

Far  purer  she  than  the  moonlight 

She  is  so  chaste,  she  burns  with  shame 

To  hear  the  stork  called  by  its  name. 

And  if  rash  Eros  bids  you  try 

To  steal  a  kiss,  however  shy, 

Her  face  grows  pale — Heaven  forefend! — 

And  stammers  she;     "Now  this  must  end!" 

The  second  strophe,  the  temperature  of  which  rose  many 
degrees,  ended  with  the  line : 

Quoth  she:     "Now  cut  it  out!     Now  stop." 

And  the  third  strophe,  whose  outrageous  explicitness 
Lilly  scarcely  ventured  to  understand,  wound  up  with  the 
French : 

Tovi  ce  que  vous  voulez,  mais  pas  fa. 

An  endless  round  of  clapping  and  shouting  followed 
the  song. 

Lilly  was  astonished,  but  did  not  resent  it.  She  resented 
nothing  any  more.  Leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  she  let  the  lights,  the  sounds,  the  vulgarities, 
the  laughter  and  applause  pass  as  in  a  dream. 

From  time  to  time  she  looked  around  at  her  friend. 

He  stood  behind  her,  and  smiled  reassuringly,  but  said 
nothing.  A  mottled  red  burned  on  his  forehead,  and  his 
eyes  were  bloodshot.  Perhaps  he  had  drunk  too  much 
champagne.  As  for  herself,  though  she  had  taken  only  a 
sip,  her  head  was  spinning  dizzily. 

At  two  o'clock  the  speech-making  ended.    Now  the  final 


^56  The  Song  of  Songs 

restraints  were  thrust  aside.  The  company  romped  madly, 
danced,  kissed,  drank,  quarrelled,  and  fought  duels.  Lovers 
stabbed  themselves  and  were  carried  out  dead.  The  can- 
non shot  off  crackers.  A  thin,  droll  youngster  clad  in  a 
Greek  gown,  which  an  obliging  model  had  lent  him,  stood 
in  front  of  the  ** Arbour  of  the  Right  to  Motherhood,*'  and 
held  forth  in  a  singing  falsetto.  Science  had  shown,  he 
said,  by  the  results  of  artificial  fish  culture  that  man  as  a 
factor  in  reproduction  would  soon  be  unnecessary.  At  the 
entrance  to  the  *' Arbour  of  the  Cry  for  Man''  a  small, 
wild  person  with  curly  black  hair  had  climbed  on  a  chair 
and  kept  screaming  **A  woman!  A  woman!  A  woman!" 
Into  the  **  Arbour  of  Perversity"  they  had  pushed  the  baker 
and  his  corpulent  better  half,  and  each  time  the  two  kissed 
on  command  a  shout  of  laughter  went  up  outside. 

Lilly's  head  was  a- whirl  with  the  tumult.  Everything 
turned  in  a  circle,  screeching,  darting,  hammering,  like  a 
series  of  painful  flashes. 

**We'd  better  be  going,"  Mr.  Dehnicke's  voice  behind 
her  advised. 

She  arose  and  stretched  her  arms  with  a  shiver. 

That  had  been  life !   Life !   Life ! 

Then  she  followed  him. 

Mr.  Kellermann  had  noticed  her  leave,  and  furtively 
slipped  up  to  her  in  the  hall.  His  open  collar  hung  over 
his  jacket,  his  cheeks  were  puffed  and  shiny.  He  looked 
like  a  young  Falstaff. 

He  exchanged  glances  with  Dehnicke,  who  nodded 
slightly,  as  if  to  say,  **It  was  all  right,"  and  went  off  in 
search  of  their  wraps. 

The  instant  Mr.  Dehnicke  was  lost  among  the  overcoats, 
Mr.  Kellermann  turned  to  Lilly  and  whispered: 

**The  chained  beauty,  have  you  forgotten  her  entirely?" 

"Entirely,"  she  replied  with  a  languid  smile. 


The  Song  of  Songs  357 

**You'll  never  come?" 

**  Never." 

*' And  I  tell  you" — he  led  her  to  one  side  next  to  the  ban- 
isters— ' '  I  tell  you,  you  will  come.     When  your  own  chains'^ 
have  cut  into  your  flesh,  and  you  won't  know — " 

M>.  Dehnieke  returned  with  the  wraps,  and  Mr.  Keller- 
mann  became  silent. 

I  Lilly  was  keyed  up  to  too  blissful  a  pitch  to  attach  any 
significance  to  these  strange  words,  which  sounded  like  a 
joke  in  the  mouth  of  the  bacchie  faun. 

She  laughed  at  him. 


The  lightning  flashes  that  had  darted  through  her  brain 
died  down.  Leaning  lightly  against  her  friend's  shoulder 
she  walked  airily  down  the  steps  singing  and  swaying  her 
hips. 

The  whole  world  seemed  to  have  passed  into  a  soft,  per- 
fumed, chiming  twilight.  Snow  had  fallen,  and  the  moon 
was  shining. 

Dehnieke 's  carriage  was  waiting. 

*  *  Let  us  drive  to  the  Tiergarten, ' '  Lilly  suggested.  She 
could  not  draw  in  her  fill  of  the  invigorating,  snowy  air. 

She  threw  herself  against  the  cushioned  back  of  the 
brougham,  and  sang  and  beat  time  with  her  feet. 

He  sat  in  his  corner  quite  still,  looking  out  into  the 
night. 

**Do  say  something,"  she  cried. 

**What  shall  I  say?"  he  rejoined,  and  sedulously  looked 
past  her  with  his  bleared  eyes. 

They  rolled  silently  along  under  the  trees,  from  which 
every  now  and  then  a  little  silver  star  was  brushed  into 
the  carriage. 

Lilly  sank  into  a  drowsy  state. 


358  The  Song  of  Songs 

**0h/'  she  whispered,  seeking  a  prop  for  her  head,  **1 
could  ride  on  this  way  forever.  *  * 

Then,  suddenly,  it  seemed  to  her  that  Walter's  arm  was 
clasping  her  waist,  and  her  left  cheek  was  nestling  com- 
fortably against  Walter's  neck,  as  once  on  blessed  Novem- 
ber nights. 

But — where  did  Walter  come  from  all  of  a  sudden? 

She  started  up  and  sank  back,  wide  awake. 

No,  that  was  not  Walter.  Now  she  knew  exactly  who  it 
was.  But  her  great  shame  kept  her  from  changing  her 
position,  and  for  a  while  she  lay  with  her  eyes  wide  open 
listening  to  his  heart.     It  throbbed  even  in  his  upper  arm. 

"And  he  will  not  ask  the  price  which  it  is  the  custom 
in  our  country  to  demand  of  beautiful  women,"  was  what 
Walter  had  written. 

He  was  demanding  it  after  all. 

How  contemptuously  Walter  would  look  down  on  her 
when  she  would  turn  on  the  lights  in  her  drawing-room 
half  an  hour  later — Walter,  whom  everybody,  including 
the  man  into  whose  arms  she  had  glided,  considered  to  be 
her  betrothed;  Walter,  to  whom  she  must  be  true  as  long 
as  there  was  salvation  for  her  on  earth. 

To  be  sure,  it  was  heavenly  to  be  lying  there  that  way. 
She  felt  she  had  a  place  in  the  universe.  And  how  hor- 
rible that  loneliness  had  been!  But  now  it  availed  noth- 
ing. 

Cautiously,  as  if  fearing  to  hurt  him,  she  withdrew  from 
his  arm  and  pressed  against  the  other  side  of  the  brougham. 

**Why  didn't  you  stay?"  he  asked,  stammering  like  a 
drunkard.     ** Weren't  you  comfortable?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

He  repeated  the  question  several  times.  She  maintained 
silence.  She  felt  any  word  she  might  utter  would  entangle 
her  still  further. 


The  Song  of  Songs  359 

Then  he  clasped  her  hand,  which  hung  down  limply. 

**I  mayn%"  she  whispered,  extracting  her  hand  from 
his.     '  *  And  you  mayn  't,  either. '  * 

*'Why  mayn't  we r* 

**You  will  reproach  yourself  dreadfully  later  when  you 
recall  you  are  responsible  to  him. ' ' 

**Whomr'  he  asked. 

**Whom?  Him.  Whom  else?  You  always  say  youVe 
nothing  but  his  agent,  and — '* 

A  laugh,  a  hoarse,  guilty  laugh,  interrupted  her.  He 
had  folded  his  hands  across  his  knees,  and  he  laughed  and 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  laughed  again,  as  one  who  has  rid 
himself  of  a  wearisome  burden. 

A  horrid  certainty  faced  her. 

**Then  all  that  wasn't  true?''  she  faltered,  staring  at 
him. 

** Nonsense,  perfect  nonsense,"  he  cried.  *'He  wrote  me 
once,  before  he  left  for  the  United  States.  *Look  out  for 
her.  Don't  let  her  go  to  the  dogs.  She's  too  good  for 
them. '  Nothing  else  and  never  again.  There !  Now  you 
know  it.  Now  I  'm  rid  of  it.  I  've  had  a  hard  enough  time 
over  it.  But  what  could  I  do?  I  had  begun  so  I  had  to 
go  on.     There  was  no  use — " 

He  jerked  up  the  window  and  leaned  against  it  pant- 
ing. 

Lilly  wanted  to  ask,  **Why  did  you  do  it?"  but  was 
afraid  to.  She  knew  what  was  coming.  One  thing  stood 
before  her  with  horrible  clearness:  she  was  in  his  hands 
beyond  rescue.  She  lived  in  his  house,  spent  his  money, 
saw  the  world  with  his  eyes.  She  was  what  he  had  de- 
termined she  should  be :  his  courtesan,  his  creature. 

The  river ! 

She  tore  at  the  brougham  door,  and  set  her  right  foot  on 
the  step,  but  he  pulled  her  back  and  shut  the  door  again. 


360  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Be  sensible,"  he  commanded.  **Keep  your  wits  about 
you." 

She  burst  into  a  fit  of  weeping,  piteous,  harrowing, 
heartbreaking.  She  had  not  shed  such  tears  since  the  days 
of  her  divorce.  She  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing. 
Sometimes  she  seemed  to  catch  the  sound  of  his  voice  as 
from  a  great,  great  distance.  But  she  did  not  understand 
what  he  said.  Simply  to  cry,  cry,  cry,  as  if  salvation  lay 
in  crying,  as  if  fear  and  distress  would  flow  away  with  her 
tears. 

The  brougham  came  to  a  stand.  She  felt  herself  being 
lifted  out.     He  carried  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

Supported  by  him  she  stumbled  up  the  steps  and  thought 
from  time  to  time: 

"Why,  I  was  going  to  throw  myself  into  the  river." 

He  led  her  to  the  sofa  and  turned  on  the  lights  of  the 
chandelier.  Then  he  undid  the  buckle  of  her  cloak  and 
removed  the  veil  from  her  hair. 

She  lay  there  languidly,  looking  apathetically  at  the 
tablecloth. 

The  bird  awoke  and  peeped  to  her. 

'*It's  late,"  she  heard  Mr.  Dehnicke  say,  ^'and  the  car- 
riage is  waiting.  But  I  can't  leave  you  this  way.  I  must 
vindicate  myself.  I  want  you  to  know  how  everything 
happened." 

*  *  It  makes  no  difference, ' '  she  said,  shrugging  her  shoul- 
ders. 

**To  me  it  does,"  he  rejoined.  *'I  don't  want  you  to 
think  I'm  a  rascal." 

**That  makes  no  difference  either,"  she  thought. 

**I  loved  you,"  he  began,  **long  before  I  knew  you,  when 
you  were  still  our  colonel's  wife." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise. 

As  he  stood  there  in  his  short,  close-fitting  dress  suit^ 


The  Song  of  Songs  361 

with  a  pale,  joyless,  pleading  face,  uneasily  plucking  at 
the  tablecloth,  he  who  was  really  master  there,  it  seemed 
to  her  she  was  looking  upon  him  for  the  first  time. 

**I  had  been  called  into  service  for  the  manoeuvres  that 
summer,"  he  continued,  **and  the  club  was  still  full  of  you. 
Even  the  ladies  of  the  regiment  talked  of  nothing  else. 
There  were  ever  so  many  pictures  of  you,  too,  in  circula- 
tion. Some  of  the  men  had  snapped  you  on  the  sly.  The 
instant  I  saw  you  I  should  have  recognised  you,  because 
I  remembered  every  feature.  Yes,  I  may  repeat  with  per- 
fect truth,  I  loved  you  even  then.  What's  more,  after 
Preirs  letter  came  and  you  were  to  step  into  my  life,  good 
Lord!  what  plans  for  winning  you  didn't  I  work  out  in 
those  one  and  a  half  years!  Then  at  last  you  appeared 
and  exceeded  my  wildest  fancies.  But  when  I  saw  that 
in  between  you  had  become  a  grande  dame,  and  how  de- 
voted you  were  to  Walter — ^you  kept  talking  q^  him — I 
lost  my  last  hopes.  Of  course,  I  had  never  seriously 
counted  upon  winning  you,  because,  though  I  lay  some 
stock  in  myself,  I'm  not  really  self-assured — and  besides—- 
to  have  some  one  like  you  for  a  love — that's  more  happi 
ness  than  anyone  can  dream  of." 

When  he  said  '*a  love,"  passionate  bitterness  welled  uf 
within  Lilly. 

**To  have  me  for  a  wife,"  she  thought,  *^that  is  certainlj' 
more  happiness  than  anyone  can  dream  of." 

She  burst  out  laughing. 

He  took  her  laugh  as  a  sign  of  modest  deprecation  of 
his  compliment,  and  talked  himself  into  greater  enthusiasm. 
Did  she  think  a  single  person  in  all  that  company  to-night 
was  worthy  of  unlacing  her  shoe-ties?  Did  she  realise 
how  immeasurably  she  was  raised  above  everything  bearing 
the  name  woman? 

From  out  of  her  tear-stained  eyes  the  question  now 


362  The  Song  of  Songs 

candidly  shone  which  pride  and  shame  forbade  her  to 
utter. 

He  must  have  understood,  because  he  paused  suddenly^ 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  looked  agitated,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  room,  suppressing  sobs.  She  heard 
him  murmur,  *'I  can't — impossible — I  can'f 

**0h — if  he  can't,*'  she  thought,  and  stared  at  him  with 
her  cheeks  pressed  between  her  hands. 

He  halted  in  front  of  her,  and  tried  to  talk.  But  he 
could  only  choke  down  half-articulated  words,  and  he  took 
to  pacing  the  room  again. 

Lilly  caught  snatches  of  words — ^** mother" — ** never  per- 
suade her" — **must  give  up  the  business."  And  again 
and  again,  **I  can't — impossible— I  oan't." 

**He's  right,"  she  thought.  **A  person  like  me — ^he 
really  can't."  And  feeling  her  renunciation  was  final  she 
drew  a  deep  breath,  and  collapsed. 

He  hastened  to  her,  frightened;  leaned  over  her,  and 
wanted  to  stroke  her  hands.  But  she  shook  him  off. 
Since  he  could  not  find  a  word  in  justification  of  his  weak 
evasion,  he  took  up  the  thread  where  Lilly's  tortured  laugh 
had  cut  it  off. 

** Remember  one  thing,  dearest,  dearest  friend.  I  don't 
want  anything  for  myself — ^no  reward — ^nothing.  Long  ago 
I  gave  up  all  wishes?  for  myself,  I  swear  to  you.  The 
only  thing  I  wanted  was  to  draw  you  out  of  the  hole  where 
you  were  being  degraded  into  a  proletarian.  Oh,  I  know 
it  from  experience.  It  lasts  a  few  years — no  more.  They 
either  go  on  the  street,  or  they  grow  more  careworn  and 
uglier  and  uglier.  Soon  you'd  never  suspect  what  they 
once  were.  To  keep  the  same  thing  from  happening  to  you, 
I  thought  of  that  device  of  the  check,  and  wrote  to  my 
American  agents.  When  I  saw  you  were  completely  taken 
in,  I  didn't  sleep  for  several  nights  out  of  pure  joy,  be- 


u  The  Song  of  Songs  363 

cause  then  I  knew  I  shouldn't  have  to  stand  by  and  see 
you  go  to  your  ruin." 

*'Why  should  I  go  to  ruin?"  Lilly  interjected.  **By 
the  time  your  check  came  I  had  already  earned  a  decent 
little  sum.  You  yourself  helped  me,  and  you  yourself 
said,  if  I  continued  the  same  way — " 

She  stopped  short  in  fright  at  the  thought  that  if  she 
had  to  separate  from  him,  this  one  avenue  would  be  cut 
off,  too.     The  idea  was  a  nightmare. 

No  word  of  encouragement  came  from  him.  He  kept 
plucking  at  the  tablecloth  in  dogged  reserve. 

**Say  something!  Have  you  already  forgotten  every- 
thing you  did  for  me?" 

He  raised  his  head. 

**Well,"  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  **if  you  in- 
sist. At  any  rate,  it  may  be  well  to  be  perfectly  frank  this 
evening. ' ' 

*'Why,  what  else  is  there?"  Lilly  cried. 

**Do  you  remember  when  you  visited  the  factory,  I 
wouldn't  let  you  into  the  store-room?" 

*  *  Certainly.    But  what— ' ' 

"And  afterwards  I  said  it  was  because  the  room  wasn't 
heated?" 

"Yes — but  I  can't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  my 
work. ' ' 

"If  you  had  gone  the  least  little  bit  further,  you  would 
have  seen  every  one  of  your  transparencies,  fifty-six  in  all. 
The  last  were  still  unwrapped." 

Lilly  looked  up  at  him  as  to  her  executioner.  Then  she 
fell  down  before  the  sofa.  She  had  no  more  tears  to  shed, 
but  the  soft  darkness  of  the  cushions  was  soothing  to  her 
eyes.  To  see  nothing  more,  to  hear  nothing  more,  to  think 
nothing  more.  To  die  quickly,  forthwith,  before  hunger 
came,  and  shame. 


364  The  Song  of  Songs 

A  long  silence  followed. 

She  thought  he  had  already  gone  when  she  felt  his  hand 
stroking  her  shoulder  and  heard  his  voice  with  a  mourn- 
ful quiver  in  it  pleading : 

**My  dear,  dear  friend,  tell  me,  tell  me,  what  could  I 
do?  Could  I  rob  you  of  your  one  pleasure,  your  one 
assurance  ?  Was  I  to  say  to  you,  *  It 's  amateurish,  unsalar- 
ble?'  I  saw  your  whole  soul  was  wrapped  up  in  it,  and 
you  lived  from  it  spiritually,  as  it  were.  I  thought: 
*When  her  affairs  are  all  smoothed  out,  I'll  just  let  it  die 
a  natural  death.  *  And  you  know  it  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
die  naturally.  You  hardly  thought  of  it  the  last  month. 
Dearest,  dearest  friend,  do  reflect,  what  wrong  did  I  do? 
I  helped  you  out  of  wretched  surroundings,  I  gave  you  a 
few  months  of  joy  and  freedom  from  care,  and  I  didn't 
even  ask  for  so  much  as  a  kiss.  If  you  want,  return  to 
your  Mrs.  Laue  to-morrow,  and  it  will  be  as  if  nothing 
happened.  Or  remain  here  quite  calmly  until  you  have 
found  a  position.  I  won't  thrust  myself  on  you.  You 
needn't  see  me.     When  I — cleave  here — now — " 

He  could  not  continue. 

After  a  period  of  silence  Lilly  raised  her  head  in  fright 
and  curiosity  to  see  what  had  become  of  him.  She  found 
him  in  a  chair  inclined  over  the  table,  his  head  hidden 
in  his  arms,  and  his  back  shaken  with  mute  sobs. 

She  stood  next  to  him  a  while,  and  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

She  was  so  sorry  for  him — oh,  how  sorry  she  was  for 
him! 

Then  she  gently  laid  her  hand  on  his  hair. 

**Take  comfort,  dear  friend,"  she  said.  ''It  will  be 
much  worse  for  me  than  for  you.  I  won't  have  anybody 
at  all." 


The  Song  of  Songs  365 

And  she  shuddered,  thinking  of  her  approaching  loneli- 
ness. 

He  straightened  himself  up  and  silently  reached  for  his 
hat.  His  eyes  were  even  more  bleared  than  before;  his 
head  inclined  still  further  to  the  left. 

Oh,  how  sorry  she  was  for  him ! 

"Goodby,''  he  said,  pressing  her  right  hand.  **And 
thank  you.*' 

*'I  will  write  to  you,'*  she  said.  '*I  should  like  to  think 
it  all  over  to-night.  I  shall  probably  move  to-morrow,  im- 
mediately." 

** Whatever  you  wish,"  he  said. 

As  he  was  drawing  on  his  overcoat  something  long  and 
cylindrical  gleaming  with  gold  and  silver  fell  noiselessly 
from  his  pocket  to  the  floor. 

Lilly  picked  it  up.     It  was  a  huge  cracker. 

Both  had  to  smile. 

* '  That  lovely  carnival  had  to  have  this  sad  ending, '  *  she 
said. 

He  sighed. 

* '  Did  you  enjoy  yourself  ?     I  hope  for  that  at  least.  *  * 

*'0h.  what's  the  difference  so  far  as  I'm  concerned?" 
said  Lilly,  deprecatingly. 

*'A  great  difference.  The  whole  affair  was  gotten  up 
for  you." 

**How— for  me?" 

*'Well,  do  you  suppose  Mr.  Kellermann,  who  at  the  very 
best  earns  fifty  to  a  hundred  marks  a  week,  can  afford 
such  an  entertainment?  The  physician  ordered  diversion, 
and  on  account  of  the  position  you  are  in,  I  couldn't  offer 
you  any,  so  I  hid  behind  him,  and — " 

She  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

If  he  loved  her  to  that  extent ! 


366  The  Song  of  Songs 

**You  dear,  dear  friend/'  she  said,  and  for  one  instant 
lightly  leaned  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 

He  threw  his  arms  about  her  quickly,  greedily,  as  if 
she  would  be  snatched  from  him  the  next  instant.  His 
whole  body  quivered,  and  she  felt  his  warm  tears  on  her 
forehead. 

Since  he  did  not  venture  to  kiss  her  even  yet,  she  offered 
him  her  lips. 

*'The  third,*'  she  thought 

When  she  glanced  up,  she  saw  Walter's  eyes  on  the 
wall  looking  down  at  her  with  a  base,  sneering  smile. 
Just  as  she  had  feared  in  the  carriage. 

Terrified,  she  drew  Mr.  Dehnicke's  attention  to  the  por- 
trait. 

**We'd  better  have  it  sent  right  down  to  the  basement 
to-morrow,"  he  said. 

And  since  they  now  had  very  much  to  say  to  each  other, 
the  carriage  was  immediately  dismissed,  because  it  was 
half  past  three,  and  the  coachman  and  the  horses  needed  a 
rest 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  NEW  life  began  for  Lilly  once  again. 

An  end  to  her  loneliness ! 

Every  afternoon  Mr.  Dehnicke  came  for  his  cup  of  tea, 
and  now  he  was  no  longer  Mr.  Dehnicke ;  he  was  Richard, 
dear,  beloved  Richard,  to  whom  one  waved  and  nodded 
cheerily  from  the  window,  whom  one  received  with  out- 
stretched arms  in  front  of  the  apartment  door,  against 
whose  knees  one  crouched  on  the  floor,  and  from  whose 
forehead  one  smoothed  away  the  naughty  frown  of  care 
with  a  tender  **poor  boy,  poor  boy.'' 

Oh,  how  needless  to  have  hoarded  up  such  a  wealth  of 
love!  She  could  lavish  it  in  profusion,  yet  there  was  al- 
ways a  fresh  supply. 

Away  with  the  grande  dame,  the  haughty  aristocrat! 
She  stooped  to  him,  played  the  little  girl,  wanted  to  be 
found  fault  with  and  scolded,  looked  terrified  at  the  faint- 
est shadow  of  displeasure  on  his  face,  and  tried  to  read 
his  every  wish — wishes  he  himself  was  not  aware  of — 
from  his  eyes.  She  wanted  to  be  grateful  for  his  good- 
ness, his  tenderness,  for  everything  he  had  done  to  save 
her  from  ruin. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  by  degrees  he  lost  his  adoring  up- 
ward glance,  and  began  to  make  demands,  sometimes  very 
whimsical  demands,  and  assume  the  manner  of  a  husband. 
Now  and  then  he  even  recalled  his  benefactions,  not  very 
emphatically,  though  with  sufficient  explicitness  to  change 
what  was  at  first  voluntary  humility  into  a  duty. 

Since  Lilly  had  become  his  mistress,  his  attitude  to  the 

367 


368  The  Song  of  Songs 

world  had  veered  about,  so  that  his  entire  life  stood  on  a 
different  basis. 

The  pedantic  bronze  manufacturer  so  dreadfully  con- 
cerned for  his  good  name  and  standing  in  respectable  so- 
ciety hfd  changed  into  a  daring  fast  liver. 

So  far  from  hesitating  to  be  seen  at  Lilly's  side  on  the 
streets  and  promenades,  he  could  not  display  himself  to  the 
eyes  of  the  crowd  often  enough.  The  good  old  brougham 
no  longer  sufficed.  He  must  also  have  a  new-fashioned, 
spacious  victoria,  in  which  to  drive  with  Lilly  along  Unter 
den  Linden  to  the  Tiergarten.  When  they  went  out  to- 
gether in  the  evening,  he  chose  the  places  where  most  of 
fashionable  Berlin  is  to  be  found,  and  tried  to  obtain  seats 
from  which  they  could  be  observed  on  all  sides. 

He  sat  in  the  boxes  at  theatre  with  a  swelling  shirt  front, 
carefully  tailored  and  barbered  and  manicured,  and  en- 
deavoured to  present  an  indifferent  blase  smile  to  the  glasses 
levelled  upon  him  and  his  companion. 

He  ordered  his  clothes  from  the  representatives  of  Lon- 
don houses  that  bob  up  in  Berlin  every  spring  and  autumn 
in  search  of  customers.  He  adopted  a  monocle  and  stuck 
his  handkerchief  inside  his  left  cuff.  The  military  officer 
in  him  came  to  the  surface  and  endeavoured  to  ape  the 
effeminate  gestures  of  the  fops  of  the  Guard. 

In  short,  he  bent  all  his  energies  upon  proving  himself 
worthy  of  a  mistress  of  Lilly's  rank  and  qualities.  He 
soon  discovered  that  connection  with  so  exquisite  a  crea- 
ture, so  far  from  damaging  him,  cast  an  unhoped  for 
glamour  about  his  life,  even  about  his  business,  lending  it 
an  air  of  splendour  that  all  his  superb  remodelling  had  not 
been  able  to  give  it. 

If  the  senior  member  of  the  firm  of  Liebert  &  Dehnicke, 
the  world  said,  can  indulge  in  such  an  extravagance,  his 
goods  must  be  selling  much  better  than  we  thought.    And 


The  Song  of  Songs  369 

many  a  dealer  who  had  formerly  bought  of  his  competitors 
now  came  to  him,  impelled  by  those  mysterious  powers  of 
suggestion  whose  laws  psychologists  and  historians  have  in 
vain  endeavoured  to  fathom. 

People  showed  him  greater  respect,  but  a  respect  miti- 
gated by  that  jovial,  confidential  smile  which  the  world 
always  smiles  when  it  pardons  a  man  of  proven  harmless- 
ness  an  interesting  secret  little  infirmity. 

Questions  like  **When  are  we  going  to  see  you  outside 
of  business?"  or  **What  do  you  say  to  making  a  night  of 
it  together  now  and  then?"  questions  from  persons  who 
had  paid  no  attention  to  him  formerly,  became  as  cheap  as 
the  bronze  wares  of  Liebert  &  Dehnicke. 

**By  right,  I  ought  to  charge  you  to  the  expense  account 
of  the  business,"  he  once  said  with  a  smile  to  Lilly,  who 
by  and  by  ceased  to  feel  pained  at  delicate  jokes  of  that 
sort. 

The  evening  excursions,  which  took  place  three  or  four 
times  a  week,  gradually  became  a  matter  of  habit,  and 
rapidly  acquainted  Lilly  with  all  the  soap-bubble  pleas- 
ures that  float  from  the  witch's  cauldron  of  Berlin  life. 

It  was  now  too  late  in  the  winter  for  those  great  public 
balls,  at  which  one  shams  the  mysterious  lady  of  rank 
beneath  a  silk  domino.  To  compensate  there  were  the 
theatres  where  observances  are  lax  and  the  lowest  vices  of 
the  Parisian  boulevards,  diluted  and  warmed  over,  are 
dished  up  to  tickle  the  palates  of  hungry  pleasure-seekers ; 
all-night  cabarets,  where  obscene  jests  are  clothed  in  lit- 
erary garb,  and  wild  women  escaped  from  the  confines  of 
middle-class  life  vie  with  professional  music-hall  singers 
for  the  palm  of  vulgarity;  bars  and  grill-rooms;  back 
rooms  of  aristocratic  restaurants  which  the  law  forbids  Iq 
be  locked,  and  in  which  chilly  orgies  are  smiled  upon 
mockingly  by  correct  waiters;  and,  to  wind  up  with,  cer- 


370  The  Song  of  Songs 

tain  cafes,  sparkling  with  lights  and  blue  with  cigarette 
smoke,  where  the  weary  nerves  seek  and  find  their  final 
stimulation  in  contact  with  prostitutes  selling  their  wares 
in  open  market. 

In  the  beginning  Lilly  opposed  these  doings.  Her  senses 
demanded  satisfaction  of  another  sort.  She  had  a  vague 
feeling  of  mournfulness,  as  if  each  day  of  this  new  pleas- 
ure-filled life  were  carrying  her  farther  and  farther  from 
those  laurel-lined  stairs  to  which  her  longing  had  gone 
out.  But  when  she  saw  that  her  every  wish  for  quiet 
encountered  sulky  resistance,  she  gave  up  her  desires  vol- 
untarily, and  kept  her  dreams  for  a  better  time,  a  time 
which  would  bring  all  her  hopes  to  fruition,  which — 
which — her  fancy  might  venture  no  farther. 

Besides,  it  was  always  so  fascinating,  so  dazzling. 

Lilly  and  Dehnicke  were  seldom  left  alone.  In  pro- 
ceeding from  place  to  place  they  would  meet  acquaintances, 
many  of  whom  Lilly  had  seen  at  the  carnival;  and  they 
would  join  company  informally;  or  frequently,  appoint- 
ments were  made  beforehand.  So  there  was  quite  a  group 
of  them,  a  little  fixed  nucleus,  about  which  newcomers  kept 
crystallising. 

One  of  the  faithful  was  that  sweet  little  brunette  with  the 
unsteady,  glowing  eyes  and  the  foolish  smile,  who  had 
wanted  her  friend  and  herself  to  form  a  little  family 
group  at  supper  with  Lilly  and  Dehnicke.  Her  name  was 
Mrs.  Sievekingk.  A  vague  desire  for  **life'^  had  caused 
her  to  run  away  from  her  husband,  a  physician  somewhere 
in  Further  Pomerania.  After  having  gone  through  vari- 
ous experiences  she  was  now  living  with  the  proprietor  of 
a  large  steam  laundry,  a  red-haired  swell,  thin  as  a  broom- 
stick, Wohlfahrt  by  name.  He  suffered  from  dyspepsia, 
and  Mrs.  Sievekingk  always  had  ready  in  her  handbag  an 
assortment  of  pills  and  powders.    But  this  touching,  en- 


The  Song  of  Songs  371 

ergetie  eare  of  him  did  not  prevent  her  from  deceiving 
him  for  the  sake  of  any  man  who  courted  her.  Every- 
body knew  it  and  nobody  blamed  her.  She  was  a  poetess 
and  had  to  create  experiences  to  sing  about.  As  a  result 
many  a  lover  who  thought  he  was  sinning  with  her  in  ab- 
solute secrecy  would  a  few  weeks  later  discover  an  exact 
portrait  of  himself  as  the  hero  of  a  passionate  sketch  or  a 
murky  love  poem  in  some  magazine  of  the  latest  school. 

There  was  Mrs.  Welter  also,  the  divorced  wife  of  the 
renowned  composer,  whose  round,  russet  face — she  had 
returned  lately  from  a  mysterious  pleasure  trip  to  Algeria 
— formed  a  droll  contrast  to  the  golden  aureole  of  her  mass 
of  dyed  hair.  It  was  dangerous  to  associate  with  her. 
She  borrowed  of  everybody  she  met,  although  she  was  in 
comfortable  circumstances,  receiving  an  ample  alimony 
from  her  former  husband/s  rich  relatives.  Her  constant 
state  of  want  was  due  to  her  infinite  goodness,  which  led 
her  to  turn  over  all  she  possessed  and  all  her  friends  gave 
her  to  two  cashiered  lovers,  each  of  whom  in  his  way  was  a 
scamp.  Nobody  knew  to  whom  she  was  attached  at  pres- 
ent. She  was  frequently  seen  with  a  district  attorney, 
who  was  stiff  as  a  poker  and  too  formal  to  use  a  toothpick 
on  his  hollow  teeth,  and  so  sat  for  hours  in  silence  busily 
rolling  his  tongue  between  his  jaws. 

Among  others  was  an  extremely  thin  little  shrewmouse, 
I  dainty  and  devilish,  with  steely  eyes  and  thin  pinched  lips 
'turning  inward.  She  always  wore  white  silk,  and  dragged 
a  rustling,  fan-shaped  train.  She  called  herself  Mrsu 
Karla.  Nobody  knew  her  real  name  except  her  lover,  a 
mere  boy,  the  son  of  a  manufacturer.  Pale,  puny,  and 
completely  in  her  toils,  he  followed  her  about  until  dawn 
indulging  her  in  her  sapping  lust  for  pleasure.  In  an  un- 
guarded moment  he  revealed  that  she  was  the  wife  of  a 
Jewish  scholar  who  lived  in  absolute  seclusion,  and  actu- 


372  The  Song  of  Songs 

ally  believed  that  she  was  occupied  in  satisfying  the  social 
demands  of  the  Berlin  West  Side.  And  while  she  wan- 
toned with  all  sorts  of  people  in  music  halls  and  chamhres 
separees,  her  husband  sat  quietly  at  home  poring  over  his 
statistical  tables. 

There  were  women  of  every  description,  for  whose  past 
and  whose  means  of  subsistence  no  one  concerned  himself, 
provided  they  were  pretty  and  elegant  and  not  exactly 
cocoUes, 

In  addition  to  the  ladies*  legitimate  escorts  were  a  large 
number  of  gentlemen,  who  came  every  evening  to  fish  in 
troubled  waters.  These  gentlemen  constituted  the  real  en- 
livening element,  and  among  them  was  the  Dr.  Salmoni 
who  had  wielded  *'the  big  stick"  at  Mr.  Kellermann's 
carnival  while  smiling  a  mournful  smile.  In  his  com- 
pany, Lilly  felt,  she  always  grew  embarrassed  and  reti- 
cent, although  it  seemed  to  her  a  secret  bond  united  them. 
As  at  the  carnival,  he  exercised  his  caustic  wit  upon  every 
person  who  crossed  his  path,  with  the  exception  of  herself, 
whom  he  passed  by  considerately.  Now  and  then  he  dis- 
sected her  with  his  probing  eyes,  and  two  or  three  times  he 
whispered  softly  en  passant:  **What  are  you  seeking  to 
find  here,  lovely  lady?'* 

Mr.  Kellermann,  too,  presented  himself  not  infrequently ; 
grew  befuddled,  and  then  threw  out  remarks  about  *'a 
chained  beauty  crying  to  be  set  free,  * '  remarks  which  Lilly 
assiduously  endeavoured  not  to  hear.  At  the  end  of  the 
evening  he  usually  discovered  he  was  out  of  pocket,  upon 
which  Richard  came  to  his  rescue. 

Such  was  the  world  in  which  from  now  on  Lilly 's  days — 
and  nights — glided  along. 

She  received  mysterious  messages  of  all  sorts;  invita- 
tions from  strange  gentlemen  to  discreet  rendezvous,  flow- 
ers sent  anonymously,   from  modest  bouquets  of  violets 


The  Song  of  Songs  373 

to  gorgeous  baskets  of  orchids,  visits  from  ladies  of  sus- 
picious character,  who  were  organising  private  charity 
circles,  and  with  highly  significant  smiles  asked  Lilly  to 
join — a  turbid  surf  of  desire  forever  rolling  up  to  her 
threshold.  At  first  it  frightened  her;  finally  she  took  no 
notice  of  it. 

Spring  came,  and  with  it  the  races  at  which  everybody; 
appears  who  lays  claim  for  any  reason  at  all  to  membership, 
in  the  world  of  elegance. 

Since  Lilly  had  been  enthroned  at  Richard's  side,  the 
slumbering  cavalry  officer  in  him  had  been  awakened  to 
such  lively  consciousness,  his  passion  for  native  horse- 
breeding  had  swelled  to  such  vast  proportions  that  he 
would  not  have  dreamed  of  missing  a  single  race.  Al- 
though he  never  betted,  his  pockets  were  stuffed  with 
crumpled  tips;  chances  and  pedigrees  constituted  his  sole 
topic  of  conversation,  and  Lilly,  who  took  not  the  least  in- 
terest in  it  all,  willingly  lent  him  her  undivided  atten- 
tion. 

One  morning,  on  studying  the  account  of  the  previous 
day's  race  in  her  paper,  the  following  passage  attracted 
her  notice: 

**  Among  the  charming  representatives  of  the  world 
which  knows  no  ennui,  was  the  impressive  beauty  who  for 
some  time  past  has  permitted  glimpses  of  herself  every- 
where, and  who  still  radiates  the  discreet  atmosphere  of 
the  haute  volee,  which,  it  is  rumoured,  was  once  her  native 
element.  She  favors  violet,  and  in  accordance  with  a  fa- 
mous precedent,  she  might  be  dubbed  Ha  dame  aux  via- 
lettes/  We  congratulate  ourselves  upon  the  appearanee 
of  this  new  star,  who  will  only  add  to  the  reputation  of  our 
metropolitan  life." 

*'Who  can  that  be?"  thought  Lilly,  slightly  envious, 


374  The  Song  of  Songs 

and  passed  in  review  the  beautiful  women  she  had  admired 
the  day  before. 

Then  suddenly  the  blood  rushed  to  her  head.  Her 
glance  sought  the  Redfern  costume,  which  she  had  not  yet 
hung  away,  and  was  lying  across  the  back  of  a  chair.  It 
was  two  years  old,  but  so  wonderfully  well  made  that  it 
could  compete  with  the  new  creations  of  the  spring.  Since 
this  was  the  only  suit  of  the  sort  she  possessed — Richard 
must  be  spared  unnecessary  expense — she  had  worn  it  sev- 
eral times  in  succession. 

"Yes,  she  no  longer  doubted — the  item  referred  to  her 
and  no  other.     Her  first  thought  was : 

**How  pleased  Richard  will  be.'' 

She,  too,  was  pleased.  Mrs.  Laue's  boldest  prophecies 
seemed  about  to  be  fulfilled.  She  was  growing  famous. 
She  actually  figured  in  the  papers. 

But  that  feeling  of  dread!  That  enigmatic,  senseless 
dread  which  forever  crouched  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart, 
and  crept  to  the  surface  at  the  very  moment  a  new  event 
led  her  on  a  stage  further  toward  grandeur  and  happi- 
ness. Since  she  had  stepped  into  the  world  at  Richard's 
side,  she  had  encountered  nothing  but  what  awakened 
gladness,  pride  and  hope.  Everybody  respected  and  flat- 
tered her.  Scorn  of  herself,  self-torturing  thoughts,  had 
passed  away,  giving  place  to  a  quiet  appreciation  of  her 
own  value  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  But  that  stupid, 
dull  dread  never  left  her.     It  would  not  be  silenced. 

Earlier  in  the  afternoon  than  usual,  Richard  came  down 
the  street  beaming  and  openly  waving  the  paper  up  to 
her. 

After  they  had  embraced  ten  times  and  read  the  passage 
in  the  paper  twice  as  often,  Richard  turned  taciturn  and 
gloomy,  folded  his  arms  like  Napoleon,  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  room  with  short,  sharp  steps. 


The  Song  of  Songs  375 

You  could  see  ambition  seething  in  his  brain. 

The  bell  rang. 

Little  Ma's.  Sievekingk  was  announced. 

She  had  come  for  a  friendly  little  talk  with  Lilly  sev- 
eral times  before,  though  the  two  had  not  grown  more  in- 
timate as  a  result.  This  time  she  arrived  opportunely,  to 
help  them  taste  the  joy  of  Lilly's  fame. 

Her  grey  velvet  suit  shimmered  in  the  afternoon  sun- 
light, and  the  red  turban  with  the  waving  aigrette  nestled 
in  her  dark,  curly  head  like  a  tongue  of  flame  darting 
downward. 

She  held  her  hand  out  to  Lilly  with  her  seductive  smile, 
but  when  she  turned  to  Richard,  her  eyes  flashed  with 
some  of  the  energy  with  which  she  insisted  upon  her  lover 
taking  a  dose. 

In  the  presence  of  strangers  Lilly  and  Richard  still  kept 
up  the  myth  of  a  Platonic  friendship.  So  Richard  mod- 
estly reached  for  his  hat  to  extract  from  Lilly  the  polite 
request  that  he  stay  a  little  longer.  But  the  small,  dark 
woman  anticipated  them. 

** Don't  be  foolish,''  she  said,  ** don't  behave  as  if  you 
weren't  perfectly  at  home  here.  You  may  call  each  other 
by  your  first  names,  as  if  from  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  and 
I'll  pretend  not  to  have  heard  a  thing." 

Lilly  and  Richard  smiled,  and  while  Lilly  poured  a  cup 
of  tea  for  her  guest,  Richard  played  with  the  paper.  He 
wanted  to  make  certain  whether  Mrs.  Sievekingk  had 
learned  of  the  great  triumph. 

**What  I  really  came  for  was  on  account  of  that  stuff," 
she  said,  **and  you  are  the  very  person  I  want  to  speak  to 
about  it.     I  suppose  you're  awfully  proud  of  it." 

Richard  made  a  deprecating  gesture,  and  smiled  com- 
placently. 


376  The  Song  of  Songs 

*'To  be  quite  frank,  I  credited  you  with  a  grain  or  two 
more  sense. " 

*'I  beg  pardon/'  Richard  observed,  taken  aback. 

Lilly  started.  Her  dread  of  the  morning  grew  into  the 
suspicion  that  her  great  fortune  had  a  cloven  hoof. 

**Just  let  me  speak/'  said  the  little  woman,  her  eyes 
now  flashing  very  steadily  with  a  conscious  purpose.  **I 
have  experience  in  such  matters.  My  red-head  began 
the  same  way  with  me.  Has  the  thought  never  occurred 
to  you,  Mr.  Dehnicke,  that  when  a  choice  creature  like  this 
one  sitting  here,  something  so  sweet  and  glorious  that 
you'll  never  find  her  like,  entrusts  herself  to  you,  you  have 
assumed  a  vast  responsibility?  Do  you  think  we're  here 
to  puff  and  swell  your  vanity?  We're  not  factory  girk 
or  ballet  dancers  to  be  stuck  into  silks  and  laces  and  led 
around  to  show  the  world  that  you're  a  fine  buck.  We 
have  fallen  from  society,  I  know,  but  we're  not  to  be 
classed,  not  by  a  long  shot,  with  those  women  to  whose  ranks 
you  would  like  to  reduce  us." 

Richard  wanted  to  reply,  but  could  not  find  the  right 
words,  and  Mrs.  Sievekingk  continued,  bending  toward 
Lilly  tenderly: 

**So  here  comes  a  poor  little  mite  in  its  unsuspecting 
aristocracy,  and  says:  *Take  me.  Do  with  me  what  you 
want.'  And  what  will  you  do  with  her?  You'll  make  a 
fast  woman  of  her,  at  least  what  the  world  takes  to  be 
a  fast  woman.  Don't  contradict  me.  As  a  beginning 
you've  already  done  very  well. "  She  pointed  to  the  paper. 
"Once  the  yellow  journals  take  us  up,  then  the  counts  of 
the  Guard  are  on  the  spot,  and  then,  may  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  us!  They're  much  better-looking  and  more  chiv- 
alrous than  you;  and  if  we  must  become  cocottes,  we'd 
likfi  «t  least  to  know  for  whom  and  for  what.    And  if  you 


The  Song  of  Songs  377 

affect  indifference,  then  you're  nothing  in  our  opinion  but 
a  bad  joke  of  yesterday." 

Lilly's  breath  was  taken  away.  She  had  not  thought  it 
possible  that  anyone  should  dare  to  speak  to  Richard  in 
such  a  tone.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  depre- 
catingly  to  pacify  him.  She  feared  he  might  become 
angry  and  enforce  his  rights  as  master  of  the  place. 

The  very  contrary  occurred. 

**I  will  gladly  do  what  you  say,"  he  replied,  mealy- 
mouthed,  "if  only  I  knew — " 

''I'll  tell  you  what  you  don't  know.  You  mustn't  lead 
her  around  like  an  animal  in  a  show.  Don't  expose  her  to 
the  gaze  of  all  sorts  of  people.  Don 't  seat  her  in  the  front 
of  the  box  at  opera  for  every  rake  to  stare  at." 

Eichard  plucked  up  his  spirits  for  a  defence. 

** Aren't  you  to  be  seen  everywhere?" 

**  Certainly.  Because  I  myself  want  to  see  things. 
That's  the  reason  I  ran  away  from  my  horror  of  a  hus- 
band. Nevertheless  I  don't  take  box  seats.  And  I  don't 
j3y  around  race  tracks  either.  I'm  by  nature  a  Bohemian, 
while  Lilly,  with  her  quiet,  refined  heart,  is  a  bourgeois, 
and  a  bourgeois  she  ought  to  remain,  as  if  she  were  your 
wife  by  law.  But  neither  of  us  wants  to  descend  to  the 
demi-monde,  I  mean  what  we  mean  by  demi-monde  in  Ger- 
many. In  the  French  sense  we've  been  in  it  a  long  time. 
That's  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  my  dear  sir." 
'  Richard  arose  helplessly,  quite  red  in  the  face,  gnawing 
ferociously  at  his  moustache. 

*'I've  always  had  nothing  but  her  good  at  heart,"  he 
said.     ** Besides,  it  was  your  wish,  too,  wasn't  it,  Lilly?" 

Lilly  could  not  make  denial.  She  did  not  want  to  shame 
him  any  further ;  and  she  turned  aside  without  replying. 

**And  supposing  it  was  her  wish  a  thousand  times!"  the 


378  The  Song  of  Songs 

little  woman  rejoined  in  Lilly's  stead.  *^You  should  have 
said  to  her:  *My  dear,  you  don't  understand.  Since  we 
are  not  married' — nota  hene,  that  would  be  the  best  for 
both  of  you — *we  must  live  modestly,  otherwise  I  should  do 
you  mortal  injury,  I  should  throw  you  in  the  mire.'  " 

Lilly  felt  tears  rising  to  her  eyes,  as  always  when  the 
subject  of  marriage  in  connection  with  Kichard  and  herself 
arose.  Not  to  show  her  emotion,  she  quickly  left  the  room 
to  fetch  Kichard 's  overcoat.     It  was  already  quarter  of  six. 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  door  and  kissed  him  ten- 
derly. He  must  by  no  means  suppose  that  he  had  jarred 
her  or  that  she  bore  him  a  grudge. 

When  she  returned  to  her  guest,  she  took  his  part 
eagerly.  He  was  very  dear  and  good.  He  had  saved  her 
from  ruin,  and  certainly  meditated  no  evil. 

*  *  I  'm  not  here  to  sow  dissension, ' '  said  the  little  woman, 
laughing.  She  then  asked  to  be  allowed  to  remain  a  little 
longer.  **My  first  name  is  Jula,  and  please  avail  yourself 
of  it  in  the  future." 

They  sat  hand  in  hand  on  the  straight  sofa,  over  which 
Walter's  masterful  smile  had  been  replaced  by  an  ex- 
tremely indifferent  sheep-shearing  scene.  On  the  glass 
plate  in  front  of  each  was  a  bit  of  nibbled  cake.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  Lilly  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  pos- 
sessing something  like  a  friend — she  had  always  felt  un- 
easy in  Miss  von  Schwertf eger 's  presence. 

The  canary  bird  sang  a  sorry  spring  song,  and  the  spar- 
rows outside  in  the  chestnut  trees  responded.  The  May 
gun  painted  red  spirals  on  the  wall,  and  from  time  to  time 
a  greenish  golden  flash  darted  from  the  aquarium  when 
one  of  the  little  fish  shot  through  the  waving  algae. 

The  hour  of  confidences  had  struck. 

**I  put  on  mighty  superior  airs  just  then,"  said  Mrs. 


The  Song  of  Songs  379 

Jula.  **But  it  was  necessary  to,  my  dear.  Because  youVe 
just  like  me,  you  are  standing  on  the  very  edge.  One 
touch,  and  over  we  go — where  no  one  will  pick  us  up.  If 
we  could  rely  on  our  own  character,  our  plight  would  not 
be  so  bad,  but  there  are  no  two  ways  about  it,  we  can't  al- 
ways be  faithful — we  don't  want  to  be.*' 

**How  can  you  say  such  a  thing?*'  cried  Lilly,  horror- 
stricken. 

Mrs.  Jula  ran  her  little  red  tongue  along  her  lips. 

**Just  wait,  my  dear.  The  men  we  meet  are  really  not 
calculated  to  make  us  see  that  we  are  here  for  one  alone. 
In  fact,  the  only  way  to  enjoy  them  is  in  the  plural.  Oh,  I 
could  tell  you  things!  But  I  don't  want  to  alarm  you. 
Besides,  there 's  a  danger  attached  to  the  plural.  Each  man 
we  give  ourselves  up  to  robs  us  of  a  piece  of  what  is  best  in 
us — what  is  best,  I  tell  you,  even  if  we  can't  clearly  define 
it.  It  isn  't  consciousness  of  our  own  worth,  because,  if  pos- 
sible, that  survives.  It's  not  purity  either.  We  don't 
give  a  fig  for  purity.  Happiness,  certainly  not.  We 
should  die  of  dulness  if  we  stuck  to  one  man.  I  Ve  spoken 
to  a  number  of  women,  and  they  all  have  the  same  feeling. 
Some  of  them  think  it's  better  not  to  fall  in  love,  and  do 
it  just  from  caprice.  Some  swear  by  the  grand  passion, 
which  is  to  consecrate  everything.  No  two  persons,  I  sup- 
pose, think  alike  in  this  respect.  And  now  I  want  to  give 
you  a  little  advice,  because  your  turn  will  come  some  day. 
Don't  accept  any  gifts,  at  least,  no  gifts  of  money  value. 
At  the  utmost  flowers,  and  none  too  many  of  them.  And 
don't  give  gifts  in  return,  because  everything  belongs  to 
'him.^  Married  women  may;  but  it's  not  seemly  for  us. 
In  general;  avoid  the  amant  de  ccBur,  because  amant'de- 
coeurdom  is  characteristic  of  prostitutes.  Married  women 
may  do  all  that,  because  they  have  to  take  revenge  for  being 


380  The  Song  of  Songs 

tied  to  the  'one.'  We,  on  the  contrary,  are  free.  We  are 
permitted  to  go  whenever  we  want  to.  But  we  mustn't. 
Anything,  but  not  thaf 

**Why  mustn't  we?"  asked  Lilly,  who  suddenly  began 
tc  feel  her  chains. 

''Married  women  may.  They  may  everything.  They 
may  be  divorced  as  often  as  they  want,  and  carry  their 
heads  just  as  high  as  before.  As  for  us,  each  time  we're 
thrust  lower  into  the  world  of  prostitutes ;  and  the  of tener 
we  change,  the  more  we  become  free  booty.  All  very  well, 
if  we  have  money  of  our  own.  But  neither  you  nor  I 
have.  They  hover  over  us  like  vultures  ready  to  swoop 
down  upon  us.  If  she 's  allowed  herself  to  be  supported  by 
him — and  him — and  him,  why  isn't  she  to  be  had  for  my 
good  money,  too?  That's  the  reason  we  must  hold  fast  to 
the  one  we  have,  no  matter  how  small  and  horrid  he  is,  no 
matter  how  repulsive  we  think  him. ' ' 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Lilly.  "If  you're  with  a 
man,  you  love  him." 

"Oh — do  you  mean  to  say  you  loved  every  man  you 
were  with?" 

"Why,  there  weren't  so  many,"  replied  Lilly.  "Be- 
side my  husband,  the  general ' ' — she  could  not  deny  herself 
the  joy  of  uttering  that  proud  word — "there  was  op.ly  one 
other,  and  now — ^here — " 

"Oh,  stuff!"  cried  Mrs.  'Jula  in  righteous  indignation. 
"Do  you  want  to  blossom  in  my  eyes  as  a  rose  of  virtue?" 

Lilly  protested  she  was  speaking  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Jula  could  not  credit  it. 

"Why,  then,  you're  not  one  of  us!  You  ought  really  be 
a  judge's  wife." 

Lilly  laughed.  She  who  had  always  thought  sentence 
had  long  before  been  pronounced  upon  her  immoral  con- 
duct, now  heard  herself  ridiculed  for  her  excess  of  virtue 


The  Song  of  Songs  381 

''OH,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  the  stories  of  all  the  women 
we  meet/'  continued  Mrs.  Jula.  "  One_of_themgoes  with 
girls  in  jecret.  One  rents  out  rooms  to  students,  but  only 
"to  students  she  likes.  And  then  there's  one" — her  voice 
sank  to  a  whisper — ''who  fetches  her  lovers  in  from  the 
street." 

Lilly  shuddered. 

*'What!  I've  sat  next  to  a  woman  like  that,  and  never 
suspected  it!" 

Mrs.  Jula's  eyes  glowed  into  space. 

*  *  It 's  dreadful,  isn  't  it  ? "  she  said,  and  laughed.  * '  WeU, 
it  doesn't  bother  me.  I  have  my  poems.  They  lend  sanc- 
tity to  my  acts  and  wash  me  clean  again.  It's  for  their 
sake  I  do  it  all.  I  need  sensations,  yes,  I  need  'sensations. 
I  must  feel  my  blood  chase  through  my  veins.  I  must 
study,  study — something  new  in  each  one.  No  matter  how 
inane  a  man  may  be,  so  inane  that  a  thimble  would  hold 
his  soul,  nevertheless  he  has  one  hour  of  intoxication  to 
give  you,  one  hour  in  which  all  the  •bells  chime  and  even 
the  spheres  make  their  heavenly  music.  And  the  more  men 
you  possess,  the  more  life  you  possess,  the  more  souls  you 
creep  into.  All  the  doors  of  life  fly  open.  All  the  secrets 
are  revealed.  If  you  can  hear  the  pulsebeat  of  a  stranger, 
can  feel  it  under  your  fingers — he's  yours — he's  you  your- 
self. Then  you  live  one  life  more.  Yes,  that's  life. 
That's  what  I  call  life." 

Lilly  said  to  herself  she  could  not  possibly  take  this  talk 
seriously,  though  hot  and  cold  waves  shivered  through  her 
body. 

''I  don't  understand  what  you  say,"  she  replied,  and 
rose. 

Mrs.  Jula  did  not  even  hear  her.  A  mystic  fire  smoul- 
dered in  her  eyes.  She  looked  like  a  priestess  sacrificing 
to  dark  gods. 


'382  The  Song  of  Songs 

It  struck  eight  o'clock. 

The  maid  had  set  the  table  in  the  dining-room,  and  had 
laid  a  cover  for  the  strange  lady,  who  did  not  seem  dis- 
posed to  leave.  She  now  came  to  announce  that  the  meal 
was  served. 

**Will  you  stay  and  dine  with  me?"  asked  Lilly,  some- 
what against  her  will. 

At  last  Mrs.  Jula  woke  up.  She  neither  accepted  nor 
declined,  but  arose  and  disengaged  her  flaming  hat  from 
her  dark  curls. 

"I'm  crazy,  am  I  not?"  she  said,  and  the  foolish,  se- 
ductive smile  blossomed  about  her  lips  again. 

Drawing  a  breath  of  relief,  Lilly  opened  the  door  to  the 
dining-room. 

The  table  gleamed  with  snowy  damask,  strewn  with 
leaves  of  light  formed  by  the  pierced  shade  of  the  hanging 
lamp.  The  gaily  coloured  dishes,  which  Lilly  had  bought 
cheap  at  a  sale,  were  a  copy  of  an  old  Strasburg  pattern. 
The  knives  and  forks  as  well  as  the  set  of  casters  and  the 
sugar  tongs  were  of  the  finest  plate,  to  be  distinguished 
from  real  silver  only  by  the  mark. 

When  Richard  stayed  for  the  evening  meal,  he  should 
find  everything  as  shining  and  substantial  as  at  his 
mother's. 

Mrs.  Jula  burst  into  raptures. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful  your  place  is.  How  dear!  How 
charming !  Am  I  not  right  in  saying  you  were  born  to  be  a 
married  woman?  You  ought  to  see  my  rubbish  at  home. 
What's  the  use?  If  my  red-head  has  spoiled  his  stomach 
in  a  restaurant  on  larded  lamb  kidneys  or  turkey  aux 
truffes,  the  next  day  I  have  to  prepare  gruel  and  toast 
and  I  serve  it  to  him  directly  from  the  pot.  What's  the 
use  of  making  a  lot  of  fuss  and  setting  a  table?" 


The  Song  of  Songs  383 

*' Thank  the  Lord!''  thought  Lilly.  *' She's  herself 
again. " 

The  meal  was  modest  enough — various  cold  cuts  with 
roasted  potatoes,  and  the  remnants  of  a  pastry  for  dessert. 
But  Mrs.  Jula  ate  as  if  such  delights  had  not  been  spread 
before  her  for  years.  And  she  had  to  know  exactly  where 
Lilly  got  her  supplies. 

Lilly  informed  her  accurately.  For  the  sake  of  cheap- 
ness, she  said,  she  got  her  cold  meats  from  a  man  in  the 
country,  whose  address  she  would  be  glad  to  give  Mrs. 
Jula. 

**I  divined  it  immediately,"  said  Mrs.  Jula,  softly,  her 
eyes  staring  meditatively.  After  a  pause  she  added  more 
softly:    ** That's  just  the  way  it  was  there." 

*' There— where?"   asked  Lilly. 

**Why,  in  my  home." 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Jula  threw  her  napkin  on  the  table, 
jumped  from  her  seat,  and  stepped  to  the  open  window, 
wringing  her  hands  and  pressing  them  to  her  forehead. 

*'I'm  going  to  ruin!  I'm  going  to  ruin!  I'm  going  to 
ruin!"  she  moaned  out  into  the  night. 

** What's  the  matter?"  faltered  Lilly  in  fright,  and  aiso 
jumped  up. 

*'I  want  to  go  back  to  my  husband.  I  want  to  go  back 
to  my  husband.  He's  a  cross  old  piece,  I  know.  And  it's 
death  to  live  with  him.  It's  true,  it's  true!  But  I  do 
want  to  go  back  to  him.  I'm  going  to  ruin  here.  I'm 
going  to  ruin  here." 

Lilly  stepped  behind  her  and  stroked  her  neck. 

**Why  should  you  go  to  ruin  here?"  she  comforted  her. 
**You  just  now  gave  me  such  splendid  advice  about  how 
to  keep  from  going  to  ruin.  Besides,  you  have  a  mainstay 
in  your  art  which  I  lost  long  ago."    She  looked  with  a 


884  The  Song  of  Songs 

sigh  at  the  sample  closets,  in  which  the  last  of  her  pressed- 
flower  woods  reposed  unseen.  *'No,  you  won't  go  to  ruin. 
You  will  reach  the  heights,  from  which  you  will  look  down 
on  us  poor  women. ' ' 

Mrs.  Jula  sobbed  on  her  shoulder. 

*' Never  again,  never  again,"  she  wailed.  **I  can't  pull 
myself  out  of  this  whirlpool.  It's  as  if  I  were  poisoned. 
My  brain  is  poisoned.  I'm  going  to  ruin.  I'm  going  to 
ruin. ' ' 

Lilly  clasped  her  gently  under  the  arm,  and  led  her 
back  to  the  unlighted  drawing-room,  and  seated  her  in  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  where  she  had  sat  before. 

"It's  nice  and  dark  here,"  Mts.  Jula  said,  whimpering 
like  a  child.  "So  I'm  going  to  confess  everything,  every- 
thing. But  close  the  door.  There  mustn't  be  a  ray  of 
light." 

Lilly  closed  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 

They  now  sat  in  darkness.  The  evening  dusk  reflected 
from  the  canal  through  the  chestnut  trees,  still  thinly 
leaved,  poured  a  vapoury  grey  over  the  tear-stained  face. 

"Before,"  began  Mrs.  Jula,  "I  told  you  of  a  woman 
vho  seeks  her  adventures  on  the  street,  and  you  jumped  up 
in  horror.  Do  you  know  who  that  woman  is?  7  am  that 
woman. ' ' 

' '  For  God 's  sake ! ' '  cried  Lilly. 

"Yes,  I  am  that  woman.  The  evenings  my  red-head 
leaves  me  alone,  I  put  on  dark  clothes,  and  go  to  parts 
where  no  one  who  knows  me  is  likely  to  meet  me.  If  some- 
body I  come  across  pleases  me,  I  give  him  a  look — as  a 
rule  he  turns  back  and  speaks  to  me — and  I  go  with  him 
to  common  saloons,  or  to  a  little  confectionery  shop — any- 
where he  wants  to.  Or  I  sit  with  him  on  a  bench  in  the 
dark — and  if  he  pleases  me  still  more — I  go  with  him — 
wherever  else  he  wants  to.'' 


The  Song  of  Songs  385 

**0h,  how  terrible!"  cried  Lilly,  pressing  her  hands  to 
her  eyes.  Now  she  knew  why  a  few  months  before  some- 
thing had  been  pulling  her  to  the  street  all  the  time,  all 
the  time;  why  a  delicious  shiver  had  coursed  through  her 
body  when  a  man  spoke  to  her  in  the  dark.  She  had  sim- 
ply been  too  fearsome  to  answer  him. 

**Now  that  you  know  what  I  am,  you  won't  want  me  to 
stay  sitting  here  on  your  sofa,"  cried  Mrs.  Jula.  **Be 
perfectly  frank.  I'm  ready  to  go."  She  reached  out 
pleadingly  for  Lilly's  hands. 

Lilly  seemed  to  herself  like  a  Good  Samaritan  who  has 
met  one  who  is  grievously  ill  and  must  render  that  assist- 
ance which  the  moment  requires. 

**But  why  do  you  do  it?"  she  asked  gently.  **You  are 
not  so  lonely.     How  did  it  come  about  ? ' ' 

*'Yes,  how  did  it  come  about?  Do  you  know  how  your 
life  turned  out  as  it  did?  It's  all  very  well  and  good  for 
people  to  reproach  us  with  weakness.  One  necessity  al- 
ways holds  out  its  hand  to  another.  Each  wish  gives  birth 
to  another.  And  you  always  think  you're  doing  what  is 
right  and  what  fate  has  prescribed. ' ' 

*' That's  true,"  faltered  Lilly,  recalling  the  decisive 
moments  of  her  own  life. 

*'This  is  what  I've  always  said  to  myself:  my  poetry 
requires  it.  I  must  have  experiences,  pictures,  that  fris- 
son, as  the  French  say.  But  all  that's  a  mere  pretext. 
The  truth  is,  we  hunt  and  hunt  and  hunt.  Your  hus- 
band's not  the  right  one.  Your  red-head's  not  the  right 
one,  and  none  of  the  rest  of  them — your  sporting  business 
man,  or  your  eh-eh-lieutenant.  But  he  must  be  some- 
where! The  stranger  sitting  at  the  next  table,  he's  the 
one,  surely.  So  you  come  to  an  understanding  with  him — 
after  all  he's  not  the  right  one.  It  is  most  certainly  not 
the  fine  ones.     Because  they  take  the  trouble  to  possess  us 


386  The  Song  of  Songs 

without  taking  the  trouble  to  find  out  whether  there 's  any- 
thing fine  in  us,  too.  So  you  keep  on  hunting.  Perhaps 
you  will  meet  him  on  the  street.  Finally  it  turns  into  a 
fever,  which  wholly  consumes  you.  Sometimes  I  can 
scarcely  fall  asleep  in  anticipation  of  the  next  dark  even- 
ing when  I  shall  rove  about  again.  Now,  do  you  see,  I 
must  be  going  to  my  ruin  ?  When  I  saw  your  beautifully 
set  table,  all  of  a  sudden  a  longing  for  my  home  and  my 
husband  came  over  me  again.  Yes,  I  sometimes  have  that 
longing.  He  has  bleared  eyes  and  he  smells  of  carbolic 
acid.  Oh,  that  vile  smell!  I'd  like  so  to  smell  it  again. 
For  all  I  care,  he  may  even  throw  the  stethoscope  at  me 
again.  Besides,  he  wrote  to  me  I  should  return  to  him. 
If  I  want  to,  I  can.  But — I  will  remain  here — and  go  to 
my  ruin.     Life's  funny." 

She  rose  and  groped  for  her  hat  and  hatpins  lying  on 
the  table. 

Lilly  did  not  want  to  let  her  go  in  such  a  state  of  mind. 

**If  you  feel  it  is  driving  you  to  your  ruin,  that  it's  a 
poison  in  your  blood,  why  don't  you  try  to  resist?  Why 
don 't  you  pluck  it  out  of  your  system  ?  Mere  force  of  will 
must  help  some." 

''I've  said  that  to  myself,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Jula.  **But 
I've  never  had  anyone  to  whom  I  could  speak  about  it  and 
who  could  help  me.  Now  I've  found  you,  it  will  be  easier 
for  me.     Now  I  feel  I  might  be  able  to.     Maybe  I  wUl." 

"Do  you  want  to  give  me  your  promise?"  asked  Lilly, 
holding  out  her  hand  to  her. 

"Yes,  I  promise,"  Mrs.  Jula  cried,  and  delightedly 
clapped  her  hand  in  Lilly's.  "You  will  be  my  saviour. 
You  are  already.  I  feel  it.  To  show  my  thanks  I  will 
stand  guard  over  you  and  see  to  it  that  no  one  spoils  ^ou. 
You  shan't  get  to  be  what  I  am,  or  the  others." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  care  of  myself,"  faltered  Lilly. 


The  Song  of  Songs  387 

''Yes,  that's  what  you  say!  But  when  the  dreary  void 
comes — and  *he'  grows  more  and  more  insipid — just  you 
see!  You've  nothing  left  to  say  to  yourself — and  you 
mustn't  have  children — for  God's  sake! — we  don't  have 
them — all  of  us  know  how  to  prevent  them  from  coming. 
You  mustn't  share  his  activities  with  him  either.  He  ac- 
quaints you  with  as  many  of  them  as  he  is  compelled  to. 
And  behind  it  all  you  feel  the  hostility  of  his  family, 
who  look  upon  you  as  a  species  of  harpy.  Then  those 
cursed  schemes  of  his  for  marrying  that  he  dishes  up  when- 
ever he's  angry.  Above  all,  the  longing.  It's  like  a 
steady  toothache.  That's  it — like  the  toothache.  You 
don 't  want  to  think  of  it,  but  wherever  you  go,  it  tortures 
you.  For  life  cannot  end  that  way.  Something  must  hap- 
pen. It's  much  worse  than  if  you're  married.  Just  you 
wait  and  see." 

Mrs.  Jula's  wild  words  increased  the  pain  at  Lilly's 
heart.     A  desolate  mournfulness  threatened  to  attack  her. 

*'Stop,"  she  said.  *'If  it  must  come,  it  will  come  soon 
enough.     I  don 't  care  to  think  of  it  beforehand. ' ' 

** Right  you  are,  my  dear.     It  doesn't  help  any,  either." 

Mrs.  Jula  now  took  leave. 

**WiIl  you  remember  your  promise?"  asked  Lilly  from 
the  hall  door. 

** Forever  and  ever,  I  swear  to  you,"  and  Mrs.  Jula 
slipped  down  the  stairs. 

With  her  brain  in  a  whirl  Lilly  returned  to  her  dark 
drawing-room,  sad  and  distraught,  and  leaned  her  head 
out  of  the  open  window  for  a  whiff  of  fresh  air. 

She  saw  the  little  woman,  who  had  just  emerged  from 
the  front  entrance,  lightly  and  gracefully  trip  along  the 
pavement. 

A  gentleman  in  a  chimney-pot  and  patent  leather  shoes 
came  towards  her,  passed  her,  started,  stopped  abruptly, 


388  The  Song  of  Songs 

turned  about,  and,  when  he  reached  her  side,  raised  his  hat 
with  exaggerated  politeness. 

In  the  light  of  the  street-lamp  Lilly  saw  her  face  smil- 
ing up  at  him  curiously,  insinuatingly — and  then  they 
went  on  their  way — together. 


CHAPTER  IX 

RiCHAJRD  reluctantly  adapted  himself  to  a  less  showy 
existence.  He  still  wanted  to  parade  his  possession  of 
Lilly;  but  little  Mrs.  Jula's  homily  had  sunk  deep  into  his 
conscience,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  disobey  her. 

Nevertheless  he  was  bored  and  vexed  and  sulky,  and 
Lilly  was  on  the  point  of  herself  suggesting  that  they  go 
to  the  races,  when  she  received  news  of  her  mother  *s 
death. 

She  shed  the  number  of  tears  and  suffered  the  amount 
of  affliction  befitting  her  tender  heart.  In  reality  her 
mother  had  been  dead  to  her  so  long  before  that  her  grief 
could  not  be  very  profound. 

Before  leaving  Berlin  to  attend  the  burial  at  the  insane 
asylum,  her  greatest  concern  was  to  have  as  simple  a 
mourning  dress  made  as  possible.  She  felt  ashamed  that 
she  had  provided  so  poorly  for  her  sick  mother  during  her 
lifetime,  and  she  wished  to  avoid  giving  offence  by  ele- 
gance of  appearance;  which  did  not  prevent  the  officials 
and  physicians  of  the  institution  from  dancing  attendance 
on  her  and  treating  her  as  if  she  were  a  sort  of  shining 
black  bird  of  paradise. 

She  spent  three  glowing  spring  evenings  at  the  little 
heap  of  earth  in  prayer  and  meditation,  and  returned  to 
Berlin  in  a  serious  frame  of  mind  with  thoughts  stirred  up 
like  soil  freshly  turned  by  the  plough. 

When  at  her  mother's  grave  she  felt  she  hated  Richard; 
but  when  she  found  him  awaiting  her  at  the  station  she 

389 


390  The  Song  of  Songs 

sank  into  his  arms  helplessly,  eager  for  consolation.  Now 
he  really  was  her  all. 

For  the  next  few  months  it  was  taken  for  granted  that 
her  mourning  stood  in  the  way  of  pleasure  seeking.  Rich- 
ard, it  must  be  said  to  his  credit,  behaved  sweetly  and 
considerately.  He  sat  at  home  with  her  many  a  night, 
read  unintelligible  books,  played  backgammon,  and  pre- 
ferred falling  asleep  on  the  sofa  to  luring  her  into  the 
world  of  gaiety. 

But  since  it  was  not  right  that  he  should  become  entirely 
estranged  from  society,  it  was  arranged  that  he  was  to 
have  every  other  evening  for  himself. 

His  beautiful  mistress's  reputation  had  smoothed  his 
path.  Relying  upon  the  support  of  two  of  her  admirers, 
he  ventured  to  apply  for  admission  into  one  of  the  aristo- 
cratic clubs,  which  welcomed  him  without  a  single  black 
ball.  From  now  on  he  could  enjoy  the  supreme  delight  of 
losing  his  firm's  well-earned  money  to  young  scions  of  the 
aristocracy,  foreign  attaches,  and  other  superior  beings. 

Lilly  disliked  hearing  of  his  losses.  She  worried  over 
his  annoyance,  which  he  invariably  revealed.  Whenever 
he  told  of  his  bad  luck,  she  felt  constrained,  and  then  of- 
fered to  make  up  by  saving  even  more  than  she  had  here- 
tofore. Though  he  laughed  each  time  and  assured  her  that 
what  she  cost  him  signified  as  little  as  if  he  were  to  indulge 
in  one  additional  cigarette  a  day,  she  clung  to  her  conviction 
that  she  was  a  parasite,  and  was  partly  responsible  for  the 
welfare  of  Liebert  &  Dehnicke. 

When  he  spent  a  quiet  evening  with  her  resting  from 
his  nocturnal  campaigns,  they  always  *' talked  business.'* 
Lilly  displayed  a  sharp  sense  for  practical  matters,  even 
for  accounts,  and  her  artistic  judgment  was  sure. 

Richard  very  often  brought  home  drawings  of  models, 


The  Song  of  Songs  391 

and  the  two  sat  bent  over  the  outspread  rolls  planning 
and  consulting  with  each  other  like  partners. 

Those  were  well-nigh  blessed  hours. 

Lilly  never  wearied  of  inquiring  about  the  factory; 
how  many  people  were  employed  there  at  that  particular 
time;  whether  this  or  that  man  or  woman  was  still  work- 
ing for  him — she  did  not  know  the  names,  but  designated 
the  people  by  an  accurate  description  of  their  appearance — 
what  pieces  were  in  process  of  making;  and  whether  the 
supply  of  articles  of  one  or  other  model  had  not  yet  given 
out,  so  thoroughly  informed  she  kept  herself  as  to  the 
firm's  sales. 

The  factory,  as  she  often  jestingly  remarked  to  Rich- 
ard, was  her  unhappy  love.  To  call  for  him  at  his  office 
at  closing  time  was  her  greatest  delight,  and  had  she  been 
permitted  to,  she  would  have  busied  herself  at  the  factory 
every  day.  But  he  objected.  His  employes  knew  of  the 
close  relationship  between  them,  and  he  must  avoid  gossip 
and  ridicule. 

Lilly  felt  sure  this  was  not  the  only  motive.  She  had 
long  fully  realised  that  his  mother  was*  not  kindly  disposed 
to  her.  Though  at  first  he  had  spoken  of  her  quite  freely, 
he  now  evaded  a  reply  when  Lilly  directly  asked  for  her. 
Probably  he  feared  exciting  the  old  lady's  indignation  if 
he  permitted  his  mistress  to  make  herself  at  home  in  his 
office. 

So  Lilly  contented  herself  with  sympathetic  interest 
from  afar  in  the  welfare  of  the  little  kingdom. 

On  the  evenings  she  was  left  alone,  at  a  loss  what  to  do 
with  herself,  she  got  into  the  habit  of  visiting  the  house  in 
Alte  Jakobstrasse. 

She  left  a  little  before  ten  o'clock,  and  took  up  her 
station  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  from  where  she 


392  The  Song  of  Songs 

gazed  reverentially  at  the  old  grey  structure.  She  ad- 
mired the  imitation  marble  columns,  which  formed  a  deco- 
rative frame  about  the  entrance  after  the  fashion  of  a 
Kenaissance  gateway.  She  stared  up  at  the  dimly  lighted 
second  story  where  his  mother  dwelt,  and  pressed  timidly 
into  the  darkness  of  a  doorway  if  she  saw  the  threatening 
shadow  of  a  woman's  figure  glide  across  the  curtains. 

When  it  grew  late  and  the  tenants  of  the  house  ceased 
to  come  and  go,  she  ventured  to  cross  the  street,  mount 
the  three  front-door  steps,  press  her  face  against  the  iron 
grating,  and  peep  into  the  hall.  The  sheen  of  the  leafy 
pyramid,  the  subdued  milky  whiteness  of  the  Clytie  bust, 
the  dark  glow  of  the  stained  glass  window  mingled  to  pro- 
duce the  mysterious,  alluring  impression  of  a  dusky  chapel. 

The  front-door  steps  became  like  a  goal  of  a  pilgrimage 
up  to  which  penitents  crawl  on  their  knees;  the  stained 
glass  window  became  a  heavenly  aureole,  the  Clytie  bust  a 
benedictory  saint. 

Late  in  the  summer  Richard  was  called  to  the  manoeu- 
vres. 

His  letters  were  curt  and  reserved,  and  unsuccessfully 
concealed  his  ill  humour.  Finally  they  were  dated  from  the 
hospital. 

He  had  fallen  from  his  horse  and  his  left  knee  joint  was 
inflamed.  He  would  be  unable  to  ride  for  a  long  time, 
perhaps  forever. 

He  returned  in  October  wearing  a  gutta  percha  knee 
cap,  and  promptly  sent  in  his  resignation  from  the  regi- 
ment. 

The  fall  from  his  horse  in  truth  was  a  fortunate  inci- 
dent. Rumours  of  his  relation  with  the  divorced  wife  of 
its  former  commander  had  reached  the  regiment.  The 
comrades  noticeably  held  aloof  from  him,  and  evidently 


The  Song  of  Songs  393 

his  chiefs  were  merely  awaiting  confirmation  of  the  report 
to  call  him  to  account  officially;  a  procedure  which  in 
the  circumstances  would  have  brought  his  lieutenancy  in 
the  reserves  to  a  catastrophal  end. 

The  accident  was  his  salvation ;  and  his  object  in  adopt- 
ing an  irritated,  reproachful  manner  in  Lilly's  presence 
was  merely  to  make  her  aware  of  what  he  was  sacrificing 
because  of  his  love  of  her. 

Indirectly  he  had  heard  news  of  the  colonel  which  filled 
Lilly  with  horror.  It  had  gradually  become  a  fixed  idea 
of  the  colonel's  that  Anna  von  Schwertfeger  had  acted  in 
collusion  with  Lilly  and  Von  Prell;  and  man  of  violence 
that  he  was,  he  had  chased  her  from  his  castle.  Since 
then  he  lived  alone,  a  maddened  misanthrope,  and  it  was 
feared  he  would  come  to  a  sad  end. 

An  ominous  greeting  from  those  sunny  days  of  Lilly's 
past. 

A  few  months  later  that  occurred  which  Mrs.  Jula  had 
prophesied:  one  day  Richard  spoke  to  Lilly  of  marrying 
another  woman,  not,  however,  for  the  purpose  of  annoying 
her,  but  because  he  had  formed  the  habit  of  disburdening 
himself  of  every  vexation  by  talking  it  over  with  her. 

His  mother  was  entertaining  an  enormously  wealthy 
orphan  girl. 

Of  course  for  Richard — wholly  and  entirely  for  Richard. 

She  sat  at  table  every  day,  a  pale,  strawy  blond,  and 
looked  at  him  questioningly  with  great,  strange  eyes: 

*' Aren't  you  soon  going  to  propose?" 

His  mother  delivered  long  sermons.  It  could  not  go  on 
the  same  way.  A  few  more  seasons  like  the  last  and  all 
the  respectable  families  would  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at 
him. 

It  was  enough  to  drive  him  distracted. 


394  The  Song  of  Songs 

Lilly  felt  as  if  glacial  waters  were  trickling  down  her 
back. 

But  she  bore  up  bravely.  She  smiled  at  him,  and  be- 
trayed no  more  excitement  than  if  he  had  been  consulting 
her  about  some  doubtful  factory  model. 

**Do  you  feel  you  could  get  to  love  her?''  she  asked. 

**What  does  Ho  love'  mean?"  he  rejoined,  avoiding  her 
gaze. 

**Well,  everything  has  to  be  taken  into  consideration." 

**You  talk  just  as  if  I  were  serious  about  it,"  he  cried. 
** Altogether  you  act  as  if  you  didn't  care,  as  if  you  would 
like  to  be  rid  of  me  in  a  twinkling." 

With  languid  eagerness  Lilly  tried  to  assure  him  she 
did  not  wish  to  stand  in  his  way,  not  in  the  least,  least  bit. 
She  had  only  his  happiness  at  heart,  and  if  he  cared  to 
make  her  proud  by  showing  confidence  in  her,  he  would 
not  take  this  step,  neither  now  nor  later,  without  dis- 
cussing it  with  her  beforehand. 

He  was  touched.     He  kissed  her  and  said: 

**0h,  it's  nonsense." 

But  the  conversation  left  Lilly  as  in  a  nightmare,  and 
the  one  thought  obsessed  her : 

**If  he  deserts  me,  I  shall  sink  into  the  mire  after  all." 

Grief  over  her  mother's  death  was  a  vanishing  cloud 
compared  with  this  torturing  anguish. 

The  vultures  Mrs  Jula  had  spoken  of  occurred  to  her, 
all  those  vultures  with  their  white  fronts  and  black  dress 
suits,  who  were  waiting  to  snatch  her  to  themselves  with 
their  moneyed  claws  the  instant  her  friend  and  protector 
abandoned  her.  From  them  her  thoughts  flitted  to  those 
other  vultures  in  Kellermann's  picture,  who  perched  on 
the  sunburnt  rocks  ready  to  pounce  on  the  naked  beauty 
when  she  should  lose  the  strength  to  defend  herself. 

**Her  chains  are  her  weapons,"  thought  Lilly.    **And 


The  Song  of  Songs  395 

that's  the  way  it  is  with  me.     If  I  am  set  free,  I  am  lost." 

The  next  day  she  and  Richard  carefully  avoided  the  dan- 
gerous topic,  though  Richard  remained  distraught  and 
uneasy. 

Finally  Lilly  took  courage,  and  though  her  feelings  com- 
pressed her  throat  like  a  murderous  clutch,  she  said: 

"I  see  you  haven't  come  to  a  decision  yet,  Richard. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  bring  me  her  picture,  so  that  I  can 
see  what  she  is  like  ?  No  one  knows  you  so  well  as  I  do, 
and  no  one  will  know  so  well  whether  she  suits  you  or 
not.'' 

Richard  violently  denied  that  he  was  undecided.  What 
did  he  care  for  that  doll  of  a  girl  ? 

But  his  resentment  was  disingenuous,  and  his  eyes  stared 
into  vacancy. 

She  had  five  millions. 

And  the  next  day  he  actually  brought  the  photograph. 

Lilly  laid  it  down  without  unwrapping  it.  Mere  con- 
tact with  the  picture  made  her  hands  tremble.  She  feared 
the  first  sight  of  the  girl's  face  would  expose  her  own 
great  distress. 

**Why,  you're  not  even  looking  at  it,"  said  Richard, 
with  some  disappointment  in  his  tone. 

''Time  enough  after  you've  gone,"  said  Lilly,  rejoiced 
that  she  could  smile  so  indifferently. 

She  called  to  him  when  he  was  out  in  the  hall: 

**I'll  tell  you  to-morrow — you'll  know  then." 

The  next  instant  she  caught  up  the  picture.  Her  heart 
knocked  at  her  ribs.  But  first  she  had  to  wave  **good-by" 
to  Richard,  as  was  her  habit  and  duty. 

And  then — and  then — 

A  girl's  face,  good,  placid,  somewhat  peaked,  with  poor, 
though  amiable  eyes.  Her  blond  hair  was  plaited  country 
jtashion^  an.d  the  heavy  braids,  thick  as  a  woman's  wrist, 


39'6  The  Song  of  Songs 

drew  her  head  back  a  bit.  A  timid  smile  played  about  her 
full  lips. 

Something  just  to  be  loved,  something  which  would  re- 
vive with  happiness  as  a  spray  of  lilacs  in  fresh  water. 
Not  turbulent,  none  too  gifted — wifely  and  yielding. 

Just  what  Richard  needed. 

Lilly  placed  the  picture  on  a  chair  and  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  in  front  of  it.  She  prayed  and  wrestled  with 
her  soul. 

She  had  to  reiterate  again  and  again : 

*'Just  what  he  needs.  He  won't  have  another  such 
chance." 

And  the  five  millions ! 

If  she  were  not  to  set  him  free  she  would  be  one  of 
those  harpies  which  Mrs.  Jula  said  the  world  of  respecta- 
bility considered  her  and  her  like  to  be. 

*'But  I  am  in  possession,  therefore  mine  is  the  right. 
"What  good  are  her  five  millions  to  me,  if  I  go  to  ruin  on 
account  of  them?  Why  need  I  sacrifice  myself  for  him, 
for  him  or  for  anybody  in  the  wide  world  ? " 

** Harpy,  harpy!"  rang  in  between. 

So  thought  the  vampires  described  in  children 's  mythol- 
ogies as  having  beautiful  hair  and  murderous  claws. 

**I  will  tear  to  shreds  the  flesh  of  him  whom  I  possess." 

Oh,  what  a  night ! 

She  crouched  in  bed  with  her  knees  drawn  up  and  her 
face  buried  in  her  lap,  sobbing,  sobbing. 

At  last,  toward  morning,  she  found  what  she  had  been 
seeking.  Out  of  tears,  out  of  bitterness,  out  of  shudder- 
ing and  prayer  arose  the  alleviating  resolve:  that  very 
afternoon  when  he  came  she  would  tell  him — but  no! — 
why  wait  until  the  afternoon?  Why  wait  until  he  en- 
tered the  rooms  where  the  force  of  familiarity,  his  loving 
resistance  might  shiver  the  great  sacrificial  work  to  bits  ? 


The  Song  of  Songs  397 

It  must  be  in  some  other  place  where  she  seemed  more 
of  a  stranger  to  him,  which  she  could  leave  the  instant  she 
felt  his  proximity  caused  her  to  waver. 

She  was  not  allowed  to  visit  him  in  his  office  without 
special  permission.  But  at  the  midday  recess,  when  it 
was  quieter  than  at  other  times,  he  retired  to  his  back 
room  for  his  actual  work  of  the  day,  and  she  might  be 
sure  of  entering  unseen  and  speaking  to  him  without  fear 
of  interruption. 

So  sacred  a  resolve  sanctioned  everything. 

She  used  the  morning  for  assorting  his  letters  and 
tying  them  together.  She  wanted  to  hand  them  to  him  along 
with  his  betrothed 's  picture  when  she  bade  him  farewell. 
He  need  never  fear  she  might  cause  him  trouble  in  the 
future. 

Then  she  dressed — more  carefully  than  usual— washed 
herself  with  milk  of  lilacs  to  remove  the  traces  of  tears, 
waved  her  hair,  and  drew  it  into  a  knot  at  the  nape  of  her 
neck,  as  she  had  seen  on  statues  of  Greek  women.  She 
was  their  equal — like  them,  serenely  raised  above  sorrow 
and  joy. 

She  drove  to  the  office. 

The  clock  struck  quarter  past  one  when  she  stood  in 
front  of  the  columned  gateway. 

Nobody  was  to  be  seen  in  the  yard  except  the  porter, 
w^ho  lifted  his  cap  with  a  confidential  smile. 

She  was  still  their  employer's  mistress. 

If  only  she  had  taken  the  precaution  to  send  in  her 
card. 

The  front  office  door  was  open  as  usual  when  he  worked 
in  the  back  room,  and  she  well  knew  the  secret  spring  of 
the  gate  in  the  railing. 

She  prudently  knocked  at  the  inner  door,  which  as  a  rule 
stood  slightly  ajar,  but  which  to-day  was  closed. 


398  The  Song  of  Songs 

^'Come  in/'  he  said. 

She  stepped  in  and  faced — ^his  mother. 

Lilly  had  never  seen  her,  and  she  had  imagined  her 
quite,  quite  different,  a  tall,  thin,  imposing  old  lady.  Next 
to  Richard's  desk  sat  a  medium-sized,  rotund  woman  with 
a  black  lace  cap  on  her  grizzled  hair.  She  looked  at  Lilly 
with  an  expression  of  surprise  and  displeasure  in  her  cold, 
grey  eyes. 

Lilly  instantly  knew  it  was  she. 

Richard,  who  had  been  leaning  back  comfortably  in  hi» 
revolving  chair,  jumped  to  his  feet. 

Rigid  with  fright,  Lilly  stared  at  the  old  lady,  who  now 
rose  from  her  seat  also,  while  an  evil  gleam  of  anger  and 
contempt  lighted  up  those  cold  eyes. 

**A  fine  state  of  affairs,*'  she  cried,  turning  her  head 
jerkily  from  Richard  to  Lilly  and  back  to  Richard.  **I'm 
not  secure  even  in  my  own  home.  I  beg  of  you,  Richard, 
do  not  expose  me  to  another  meeting  with  a  person  of  this 
sort." 

With  an  indignant  snort  she  pushed  past  Lilly,  who 
stood  to  one  side  in  respectful  terror. 

**What  are  you  doing  here?  What  do  you  mean  by  com- 
ing here  in  this  way  ? ' ' 

Richard  had  never  shouted  at  her  so  before. 

He  planted  himself  squarely  in  front  of  her,  thrust  his 
hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  and  gnawed  the  ends  of  his 
moustache.  His  head  hung  on  his  left  shoulder.  He  looked 
like  a  treacherous,  butting  bull. 

She  wanted  to  hand  him  the  picture  and  the  letters,  tell 
him  everything  she  had  intended  to;  but  her  voice  failed. 
Her  knees  threatened  to  give  way. 

"I — I — I — "  she  faltered,  and  choked. 

*  *  I— I— I— ' '  he  mimicked  her.  '  *  I— I— I  'd  like  to  wrig- 
gle myself  in  here.     I — I — I  'd  like  to  be  mistress  here — isn  't 


The  Song  of  Songs  399 

that  so?  No,  my  little  angel.  This  can't  go  on!  It  has 
to  stop — at  once!  I've  long  had  my  suspicions  of  what 
you  call  your  unhappy  love  of  the  factory.  Get  out  of 
here !    Get  out  of  here,  I  say. ' ' 

Before  he  had  finished  Lilly  was  out. 

She  still  held  the  parcel  in  a  convulsive  grip. 

She  reeled  as  she  walked  along — past  bright  red  houses, 
which  threatened  to  fall  on  her.  A  truck  loaded  with 
flour  bags  scattered  white  clouds.  A  pulley  screeched  in 
a  factory  yard.  When  someone  came  toward  her,  she 
made  a  wide  detour,  keeping  to  the  edge  of  the  pavement. 
She  feared  he  might  grin  his  contempt  at  her. 

A  skein  of  silk  thread  lay  on  the  pavement.  Lilly  picked 
it  up,  and  thought  of  hanging  herself. 

Something  must  be  done. 

To  be  abandoned — very  well — if  it  could  not  be  helped. 
Each  one,  when  her  turn  came,  would  have  to  resign  her- 
self to  her  fate. 

But  to  be  chased  away — thrown  out — ^like  a  thief — like 
the  vilest  woman  of  the  street — to  be  shaken  off  like  a  dis- 
gusting worm,  to  be  spat  upon ! 

Something  must  be  done. 

Anything  to  take  revenge  upon  him. 

Even  if  he  was  now  unsusceptible  to  her  revenge — all 
the  same!  He  would  discover  he  had  been  to  blame 
throughout.  If  she  descended  into  the  mire,  which  had 
heretofore  filled  her  with  horror,  if  she  went  to  ruin — ! 

Something  must  be  done — any  deed  of  self -degradation 
which  made  her  fit  to  be  treated  in  that  way  and  no  other — 
and  freed  her  from  those  torments — those  torments. 

Her  heart  hung  in  her  breast  like  a  painful  swelling. 
She  could  have  drawn  a  line  about  it,  so  sharply  defined 
it  was  against  her  side.  It  seemed  to  be  in  the  clutch  of 
sharp  claws. 


400  The  Song  of  Songs 

Again  those  lurking  vultures  occurred  to  her,  the  vul- 
tures of  Kellermann 's  picture. 

They  were  waiting  for  Lilly  Czepanek.     For  whom  else  1 

Suddenly  something  flashed  and  hissed  in  her  brain  like 
a  tongue  of  fire. 

That  was  it!     That  was  it! 

She  summoned  a  cab. 

On!     On! 

Whither? 

She  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  as  quickly  as  possible 
to  Mr.  Kellermann 's  studio. 

She  ran  up  the  steps,  the  same  steps  down  which  eight 
months  before  she  had  glided  at  Richard's  side  rocked  in 
bliss.  All  a-tremble  she  stepped  into  the  dark  anteroom, 
which  had  the  stuffy  smell  of  a  badly  aired  bedroom.  Her 
hand  almost  failed  her  as  she  knocked  at  the  studio  door. 

Mr.  Kellermann  in  his  breeches  and  slippers  was  squat- 
ting on  the  floor  beside  the  Turkish  tabouret  in  exactly  the 
same  position  as  at  her  first  visit.  He  was  busied  with  a 
coffee  machine,  and  looked  contented  and  seedy. 

** Mercy  on  us!"  he  said,  and  drew  the  collar  of  his 
night-shirt  together.  **What  signifies  this  sudden  appear- 
ance, 0  noble  goddess?     Are  the  suns  setting  again?" 

Lilly  did  not  reply.  She  laid  her  hat  and  wraps  on  a 
chair,  and  began  to  unhook  her  waist,  looking  about  for  a 
screen.     There  was  none. 

The  models  who  came  to  pose  for  Mr.  Kellermann  were 
not  squeamish. 

He  jumped  tip  and  stared  at  her. 

When  he  realised  what  she  meant  to  do,  he  broke  into 
exclamations  of  delight. 

**What  did  I  say?  What  did  I  say?  I  said  you'd  come. 
You  see!  We've  reached  the  point  at  which  we're  scream- 
ing to  be  set  free." 


The  Song  of  Songs  401 

**I'm  not  screaming/'  she  replied,  drawing  up  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth  disdainfully.  **If  you  please,  look 
somewhere  else.'* 

He  made  a  dash  for  the  picture  leaning  against  the  wall 
in  its  blind  frame,  blew  the  dust  off,  drove  the  wedge  in 
tight,  and  adjusted  the  easel,  laughing  all  the  while,  and 
grunting : 

**She  came  after  all/' 

Lilly  had  torn  off  her  outer  garments  and  was  pulling 
at  the  drawing  ribbon  of  her  chemise.  Her  paralysed 
fingers  could  scarcely  untie  the  knot. 

Now  she  stood  entirely  unclothed. 

The  garish  studio  light  pricked  her  flesh  painfully  a;s 
with  a  thousand  needles. 

She  wanted  to  groan  and  creep  into  a  corner,  but  she 
turned  her  clenched  fists  outward,  threw  back  her  shoul- 
ders, and  presented  herself  to  the  painter's  greedy  gaze. 

**Why  don't  you  begin?"  she  asked.  As  she  spoke  she 
felt  that  her  smarting  scorn  was  distorting  her  face. 

**I'll  begin  immediately,"  he  stammered,  choking  over 
each  word.  **I  won't  utter — a  syllable — or  the  vision  will 
vanish.     I'll  begin." 

He  snatched  up  the  palette,  pressed  the  tubes,  and  re- 
adjusted the  picture  on  the  easel. 

He  made  a  few  strokes,  then  threw  the  brushes  down. 
He  reeled  like  a  drunkard. 

*  *  No  use  this  way, ' '  he  said,  mumbling  to  himself.  *  *  You 
must  pose." 

**  Just  as  you  wish,"  she  replied,  still  with  that  mocking 
smile,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  like  the  beauty  of  the 
picture. 

He  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and  wanted  to  approach  her. 
He  did  not  dare  to. 


402  The  Song  of  Songs 

**I  will  move  the  mirror,  so  that  you  can  see  for  your- 
self what  is  wrong  in  your  pose/' 

He  did  so. 

Lilly  shuddered.  A  strange  wild  animal,  which  was 
not  even  beautiful,  seemed  to  be  standing  there. 

**Not  right  yet,"  she  heard  him  say.  "The  attitude  is 
meaningless — you've  got  to  know  what  it's  for." 

He  went  to  the  back  of  the  studio  and  rummaged  among 
all  sorts  of  gear  and  fetched  out  a  tremendously  thick 
chain,  the  colour  of  rusty  iron,  which  did  not  clank  while 
being  handled. 

**It  won't  be  cold  and  won't  weigh  you  down,"  he  said 
with  a  short,  forced  laugh.    "It's  made  of  papier  mache. " 

Then  she  had  to  suffer  his  coming  close  to  her  and  lay- 
ing the  chain  about  her  body. 

He  was  panting  and  his  breath  streamed  upon  her 
hotly. 

Each  tremulous  touch  of  his  fingers  was  like  a  sabre 
slash. 

He  returned  to  the  easel,  groped  for  the  brushes  and 
began  to  paint  again. 

Suddenly  he  cast  everything  from  him,  seized  the  pic- 
ture with  both  hands  and  dashed  it  against  the  easel.  One 
of  the  rods  tore  through  the  canvas  and  split  it  in  two. 

"For  God's  sake!"  cried  Lilly,  horror-stricken. 

He  threw  himself  upon  her. 

She  feebly  attempted  to  defend  herself  with  the  chain. 

But  the  chain  was  made  of  papier  mache. 

And  she  would  not  have  had  it  otherwise. 


Down  into  the  mire,  quickly,  with  closed  eyes 


The  next  day  Richard  paid  his  customary  afternoon 
visit.    His  lids  were  reddened  and  his  eyes  glassy.    He 


The  Song  of  Songs  403 

looked  completely  crushed,  but  he  behaved  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred. 

Lilly  had  scarcely  expected  him,  and  she  received  him 
with  frigid  astonishment. 

*'0h,'^  he  said,  *'on  account  of  yesterday.  After  you 
left  I  had  a  tough  discussion  with  mama.  You  mustn't 
come  to  the  factory.  I  had  to  promise  her  that.  As  for 
the  rest,  I  think  well  not  speak  of  it  any  more.  The 
young  lady's  leaving  this  evening.     So  let's  kiss." 

They  kissed.    And  all  was  as  before. 


CHAPTER  X 

Once  more  the  chestnuts  put  on  their  yellow  cloaks  and 
the  peep  holes  in  the  foliage  widened.  From  her  window 
Lilly  could  see  the  ducks  foraging,  and  the  odorous,  fruit- 
laden  barges  on  their  laborious  way  to  market  sunk  deep  in 
the  water  under  their  summer  cargo. 

Once  more  the  world  muffled  itself  up  for  winter 
weather;  once  more  metropolitan  amusements  turned  on 
their  gay  lights. 

In  decent  half-mourning  the  chase  began  again.  Rich- 
ard objected  to  remaining  like  a  pickle  in  a  jar. 

This  time,  however,  they  entirely  renounced  box  seats  at 
dazzling  shows  and  suppers  at  aristocratic  restaurants. 
Richard  no  longer  had  to  establish  himself  triumphantly 
in  the  possession  of  a  famous — at  the  same  time  cheap — 
Jwrizontale  de  grande  marque.  They  quietly  remained  on 
a  middle-class  level,  where  German  champagne  reigns  su- 
preme and  the  star  Kempinski  is  in  the  ascendant. 

But  here,  too,  in  cabarets  and  theatres  where  smoking  is 
allowed,  in  jolly  little  nooks  and  respectable  looking  back 
rooms,  they  passed  numberless  hours  in  riotous  abandon. 

The  women,  who  in  the  other  world  had  felt  somewhat 
out  of  place  and  embarrassed,  enjoyed  themselves  better  in 
these  more  modest  surroundings,  and  the  gentlemen  were 
content  that  their  shirt  fronts  retained  the  starch  longer. 

The  personnel  remained  about  the  same.  Only  a  few 
dandies  dropped  away,  who  saw  no  fun  in  life  unless  it  of- 
fered them  an  occasional  opportunity  to  receive  a  conde- 

404 


The  Song  of  Songs  405 

scending  nod  from  a  few  lieutenants  of  the  Guard  in  citi- 
zens* clothes. 

Lilly  followed  the  crowd,  and  thought  it  had  to  be  so. 

For  the  most  part  she  sat  there  saying  little  and  smiling 
a  friendly  smile.  She  permitted  the  gentlemen  to  pay  her 
court  and  was  moderately  responsive.  She  listened  indif- 
ferently to  the  confidences  of  the  ladies,  all  of  whom  were 
well-disposed  to  her,  because  as  everyone  soon  realised, 
Lilly  had  no  desire  to  poach  on  another's  preserves. 

They  might  have  taken  her  to  be  limited  or  phlegmatic, 
if  from  time  to  time  the  champagne  had  not  relaxed  her 
rigidity  and  enlivened  her  with  a  different  spirit.  She 
slowly  came  out  of  her  state  of  torpor.  Her  eyes  flashed, 
her  cheeks  reddened.  She  laughed  aloud,  made  madcap 
remarks,  told  the  colonel's  club  jokes,  and  finally  fell  into 
a  sort  of  ecstasy,  in  which  she  sang  comic  songs  in  a 
tremulous  chirp,  imitated  well-known  actors,  and  even 
danced  the  bold  dances  she  had  seen  on  the  variety  stage. 

Her  memory  was  incredibly  good.  She  remembered 
things  she  had  heard  only  once,  and  quite  unconsciously, 
for  in  her  normal  state  she  recalled  even  less  than  others. 
The  wine  first  had  to  wash  away  the  barriers  that  always 
hemmed  her  being. 

Her  associates  soon  became  aware  of  this,  and  tried  to 
trick  her  into  the  condition  that  promised  them  a  merry 
entertainment.  But  she  resisted  with  all  her  might.  She 
waged  constant  warfare  without  even  Richard  as  an  ally. 
It  flattered  his  vanity  to  have  his  beautiful  mistress  ad- 
mired because  of  her  talents. 

The  next  day  Lilly  always  felt  bruised  and  battered  and 
despondent. 

And  sometimes  when  the  field  of  her  spirittlal  vision  was 
completely  filled  with  red,  kicking  legs  and  the  empty 


406  The  Song  of  Songs 

teasing  dribble  of  comie  songs,  shf3  heard  a  still  small  voice 
in  admonition: 

**  There  was  a  time  when  you  lived  otherwise.  There 
was  a  time  when  you  aspired  to  the  heights. ' ' 

But  Lilly  feared  to  listen  to  this  voice. 

She  felt  she  was  worthless  because  she  was  defenceless. 

And  because  nobody  was  there  who  understood  her  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

Frequently,  on  the  evenings  she  was  left  to  herself,  she 
slipped  out  of  the  house  as  if  she  were  committing  an  evil 
deed,  and  took  a  seat  in  the  gallery  of  some  good  theatre, 
where  she  thought  no  one  would  recognise  her;  or  at  a 
concert,  among  the  music  students,  who  sat  on  the  steps  or 
leaned  against  the  railings,  following  the  selections  with 
thick  scores  in  their  hands.  Lilly  behaved  as  if  she  were 
one  of  them. 

But  concerts  no  longer  touched  her.  She  felt  uneasy 
and  out  of  place,  and  turned  her  attention  to  some  young 
man  because  of  his  bold  profile  or  his  fine  head  of  hair. 

**He  is  one  of  those  favoured  talented  persons,*'  she 
thought,  tormented,  and  looked  at  him  long  and  languishly, 
until  he  returned  her  dallying  with  ardour. 

Though  she  burned  to  have  him  speak  to  her,  she  lacked 
the  courage  to  grant  him  additional  signs  of  her  favour, 
having  before  her  eyes  Mrs.  Jula's  appalling  example. 
Besides,  the  throbbing  of  her  heart  was  sufficient  enjoy- 
ment. 

Already  she  was  so  completely  under  the  spell  of  an 
erotic  world  that  every  excitement  of  her  mood  was  im- 
mediately transmuted  into  a  desirous  love  game. 

And  the  longing,  that  eternal  toothache,  of  which  Mrs. 
9^ula  had  spoken,  had  begun  to  drill  her  nerves. 

It  had  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night.    It  filled  her  sleep 


The  Song  of  Songs  407 

with  flaming  pictures  and  converted  her  waking  hours  into 
a  twilight  doze. 

She  waited,  but  nobody  came.  Nobody  took  the  trouble 
to  pick  up  her  lost  soul  from  out  of  the  dust. 

There  w^as  only  one  man  who  observed  her  and  seemed 
to  have  a  suspicion  of  what  was  taking  place  in  her  soul. 

He  was  Dr.  Salmoni. 

Dr.  Salmoni  was  considered  a  great  man,  one  of  the 
luminaries  in  Berlin's  intellectual  life.  He  was  editor  of 
an  art  magazine,  w^hich  had  once  conducted  a  revolutionary 
campaign  against  the  great  men  of  the  old  school,  and  had 
fashioned  new  gods,  erected  new  altars  at  which  the  masses 
might  burn  incense.  But  the  steady  burning  of  incense 
was  not  in  Dr.  Salmoni 's  line.  He  promptly  bethought 
himself  that  the  divinities  before  whom  every  Tom,  Dick, 
or  Harry  was  crawling  on  his  knees,  were,  at  bottom,  crea- 
tions of  his  and  of  his  friends,  fetiches  to  be  rejected,  just 
as  they  had  been  exalted.  And  he  began  a  merry  war 
upon  them  also.  People  easily  endured  Dr.  Salmoni 's 
hate;  his  quips  sputtered  in  the  air  harmless  as  skyrock- 
ets; nobody  believed  his  imputations.  The  only  time  he 
was  dangerous  was  when  he  showed  pitying  benevolence. 
Then  somebody's  reputation  was  surely  at  stake.  In  cer- 
tain circles  Dr.  Salmoni 's  praise  was  equivalent  to  a  death 
sentence. 

As  in  the  previous  winter,  the  distinguished  Dr.  Sal- 
moni condescended  every  now  and  then  to  take  part  in 
the  innocent  sport  of  the  little  circle  whose  forte  was  not 
exactly  intellectuality.  His  appearance  always  caused  a 
flutter  of  joyous  reverence;  the  company  instantly  moved 
closer  to  make  place  for  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  leaned  back 
gently  in  his  chair,  smiled  his  sad,  compassionate  smile, 
and  stroked  the  peak  of  his  light-brown  Van  Dyke  beard, 


408  'The  Song  of  Songs 

they  hung  on  his  lips  expectantly  awaiting  a  titillating 
stream  of  spiteful  sallies. 

But  the  jester's  role  did  not  always  suit  him.  He 
plunged  into  profound  tete-a-tetes,  or  dreamed  in  silence, 
according  to  his  mood.  Sometimes  he  even  showed  a  na'ive, 
trusting  side  of  his  nature,  like  a  leopard  playing  with 
dogs.         ^ 

He  seldom  addressed  Lilly;  but  his  piercing  eyes  often 
glided  over  her  face,  as  if  to  spy  upon  her  feelings  and 
grope  about  in  her  soul. 

One  evening  he  seated  himself  next  to  her,  and  asked 
her  to  cut  his  meat  for  him — he  had  strained  his  wrist 
throttling  a  certain  celebrity.  Waxing  more  intimate,  he 
next  asked  her  to  feed  him,  though  his  left  hand  had  by  no 
means  been  disabled. 

So  for  the  first  time  they  entered  into  a  conversation. 

Lilly  quailed.  She  feared  she  might  not  acquit  herself 
creditably. 

**I  am  surprised, '*  he  said.  **YouVe  been  going  about 
with  this  loud  crew  for  over  a  year,  and  I  don't  read  the 
slang  in  your  eyes  yet.*' 

** Slang  in  my  eyes?  What  do  you  mean  by  slang  in  a 
person's  eyes?" 

**Do  me  the  favour  to  regard  the  women  here."  Ho 
pointed  furtively  at  Mrs.  Jula,  Mrs.  Welter,  Karla,  and  a 
few  others.  ''Look  at  the  way  they  roll  their  eyes  and 
exchange  glances.  It's  the  lingo  of  a — well,  I  won't  say 
vice — I  despise  words  without  nuance — I'll  say  of  a  thiev- 
ish fancy.     Do  you  understand?" 

'*I  think  so,"  faltered  Lilly. 

''But  you  still  have  some  of  the  childlike  expression  you 
had  when  you  made  your  debut.  Not  altogether.  A  fleck 
of  disdain  is  in  your  eyes.  Disdain  is  not  the  right  word. 
At  the  edge  of  deserts  there  are  certain  salt  seas — dark 


rriie  Song  of  Songs  409 

green  and  empty.  Do  you  catch  the  idea?  Because  the 
ground  is  poisonous." 

** Possibly/'  said  Lilly,  constrained. 

** Nevertheless,  it's  wonderful.  Your  soul's  like  a  fil- 
ler. It  assimilates  nothing  but  what  it  wants  to.  Or  have 
you  a  secret  store  to  draw  on,  which  gives  you  the  right 
to  mock  at  us — some  constant  ideal — some  goal  in  the 
hazy  distance — some  great  song — a  Song  of  Songs?" 

Lilly  started  up  with  a  faint  outcry,  but  not  so  faint  as 
to  fail  to  attract  general  attention. 

**I  merely  stepped  on  her  foot,"  Dr.  Salmoni  explained, 
**and  she  is  still  innocent  enough  not  to  consider  it  unin- 
tentional." 

All  laughed. 

**A  joke  exactly  suited  to  their  understanding,"  he 
whispered,  bending  toward  her  shoulder.  **I'll  pretend 
not  to  have  heard  your  involuntary  avowal.  That  alone 
has  value  in  my  estimation  which  is  voluntary.  And  I 
will  not  ask  you  as  I  did  a  year  ago:  *What  is  thy  quest 
here,  lovely  lady?'  I  will  ask  you:  *What  hast  thou  to 
lose  here?'  I  myself  will  furnish  the  answer.  Your 
style — you  have  your  style  to  lose.  You  are  on  the  point 
of  becoming  styleless;  which  is  always  a  misfortune  and  a 
crime.  To  me  style  is  virtue,  greatness,  genuineness,  force, 
religion,  a  God-ordained  quality — all  in  one  and  a  few 
things  more.  Remain  bodily  and  spiritually  intangible. 
Rise  to  a  healthy,  gladsome  vice — tant  mieux.  Dress  your 
hair  for  evening  prayers,  or  let  it  flow  over  the  pillow  like 
a  bacchante — but  decide  which." 

*  *  I  believe  a  moment  ago  you  were  pleading  for  nuance, ' ' 
said  Lilly,  the  edge  of  whose  wit  was  sharpened  by  his, 
**and  now  you're  advocating  a  dogma." 

^'Hear,  hear!"  he  praised  her.  ** Excellent.  But  no. 
I'm  not  preaching  a  dogma.     I'm  preaching  the  exercise 


410  The  Song  of  Songs 

of  one's  will,  the  will  to  personality.  Do  you  under- 
stand? The  result  will  be  rich  enough  in  nuances.  Un- 
doubtedly you  have  the  material  in  you  for  a  grande 
amoureuse,  but  alas  not  the  courage.'* 

**Well,  then,  not  the  material,"  she  flashed  back  hap- 
pily- 

He  laughed  like  a  child. 

**In  one's  old  age  one  gets  lectures  on  logic  from  little, 
virtuous  women."  He  magnanimously  allowed  her  the 
pleasure  of  having  outdone  him  in  repartee. 

Thereafter  Lilly  reflected  much  upon  the  conversation. 
What  a  vast  deal  he  knew  of  her!  Was  he  in  alliance 
with  supernatural  powers  ? 

* '  The  will  to  personality, ' '  he  had  said. 

She  felt  blissful.     Up  to  the  heights  again! 

On  another  occasion,  as  they  were  walking  behind  their 
companions  along  Friederichstrasse,  still  gaily  alive  at 
midnight,  he  adopted  a  different  tone. 

"I  have  a  sure  feeling  that  you  are  afraid  of  me,"  he 
said. 

**I?"  she  queried,  confused  and  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
''Why  should  I  be?" 

**  Because  you  know  I  have  a  message  for  you,  a  mes- 
sage to  which,  in  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  you  don't  feel 
equal." 

*'I  don't  understand,"  she  stammered,  though  she  fully 
took  in  his  meaning.  She  knew  precisely  what  role  he 
could  play  in  her  life  if — 

''I  am  a  man  who  likes  tones  pianissimo.  I  don't  care 
to  blow  my  sensations  on  a  comb.  Otherwise  your  ears 
might  have  tingled  on  certain  occasions.  However,  I  must 
say,  it's  abominable  to  see  a  woman  like  you,  a  woman 
created  to  wander  on  the  heights  of  thought  and  enjoy- 


The  Song  of  Songs  411 

ment,  seduced  by  a  few  Bismarck  herrings  into  cutting 
capers  with  them.  I  won't  mention  names,  but  I  assure 
you,  you  can't  get  drunk  on  lukewarm  dish  water,  and 
intoxication  is  the  great  thing  in  life,  at  least  while  our 
blood  runs  lively  in  our  veins.'* 

Lilly  trembled  on  his  arm. 

They  were  passing  a  crowd  of  roysterers,  young  fellows 
shouldering  their  canes,  with  swimming  eyes  dreaming 
into  space.  One  whistled  Wagner,  another  sang  a  stu- 
dents' song;  and  sweet  little  street-walkers  cast  longing, 
seductive  glances  at  them.  Lilly  and  Dr.  Salmoni  passed 
more  people,  adults  and  half-grown  girls,  men  and  youths. 
All  seemed  under  the  spell  of  the  same  transport.  It  was 
like  a  great  dance,  at  which  each  offered  his  neighbour  hand 
and  mouth  and  body  and  soul. 

''What  can  I  do?"  she  whispered,  dropping  her  chin  on 
her  heaving  breast. 

**I  will  tell  you,"  he  replied  with  a  smile  which  har- 
boured dark  promises.  **You  must  learn  to  live  another 
life  along  with  this  one.  One  all  for  yourself,  for  your- 
self and  a  few  select.  Do  you  understand?  As  a  French- 
man once  said,  you  must  lay  out  a  secret  garden,  in 
which  you  will  cultivate  in  absolute  quiet  those  thoughts 
and  desires  that  seem  dear  to  you,  and  above  all,  those 
that  seem  to  be  forbidden  and  those  that  you  have  stolen  by 
the  way,  no  matter  how.     Do  you  understand?" 

** Whatever  I  have  stolen  has  brought  me  misfortune," 
said  Lilly,  hesitatingly. 

''Rather  the  law  which  calls  it  stolen.  The  distinction 
is  a  difficult  one  to  make.  However,  you  may  believe  me 
in  this:  so  long  as  we  are  not  permeated  with  the  religion 
of  self-exaltation — do  you  understand  me,  child? — so  long 
as  we  haven't  rooted  out  the  words  'attachment'  and 
'duty'  from  our  thoughts,  our  road  is  not  perfect.     We 


412  The  Song  of  Songs 

continue  to  knock  our  toes  on  the  crushed  stones  that  the 
others  heap  up  ahead  of  us  under  the  pretext  that  they 
are  levelling  the  way." 

"Sometimes  they  do,"  said  Lilly,  recalling  all  the  good 
things  she  had  received  from  Richard. 

He  smiled  at  her  with  compassionate  indulgence. 

**You  seem  to  be  suffering  from  what  I  call  chain  mad- 
ness." 

**What  is  that?"  asked  Lilly,  suspecting,  to  her  dismay, 
that  he  again  divined  what  lay  in  her  innermost  being. 
Could  he  know  of  the  shameful  role  that  a  certain  chained 
beauty  had  played  in  her  life? 

**It  is  said,"  he  continued,  **that  if  galley  slaves  who 
have  worn  chains  for  many  years  are  liberated,  they  cannot 
endure  their  freedom.  They  complain  that  their  arms  and 
legs  have  been  chopped  off.  They  miss  the  support  and 
weight  of  their  chains.  You  have  such  beautiful  arms  for 
stretching  upward.    Just  exercise  them  a  little." 

*'And  such  long  legs  for  running  away,"  she  supple- 
mented with  a  tortured  laugh.  ''The  only  question  is: 
Whither?" 

*'0h,  oh!  Why  run  away  immediately?"  he  asked, 
stroking  her  hand,  which  rested  on  his  arm,  and  speaking 
as  to  a  child.  ''You  would  simply  run  into  the  arms  of 
another  so-called  duty.  First  you  must  be  free  inwardly. 
You  must  first  forget  to  fetch  and  carry  for  persons  who 
are  themselves  meant  to  fetch  and  carry." 

"Teach  me,"  she  burst  out. 

"I  will  bring  you  some  books,"  he  said,  as  if  deliberat- 
ing, "books  which  will  lead  you  back  to  yourself.  To- 
morrow at  noon,  I  will — " 

At  that  moment  they  were  separated. 

In  bed  Lilly  lay  with  clasped  hands  smiling  up  at  the 
ceiling. 


The  Song  of  Songs  413 

She  was  again  aspiring  to  the  heights. 

But  the  next  day  when  he  was  to  come,  dread  fell  upon 
her  again,  dread  of  him,  of  Richard,  of  herself. 

It  was  the  first  secret  visit,  the  first  to  knock  a  breach 
in  the  peace  of  her  home. 

When  she  saw  him  step  from  the  cab  with  several  vol- 
umes in  his  arm,  she  flew  into  the  kitchen  and  told  the 
maid  to  say  she  was  not  at  home. 

But  the  instant  he  left  she  seized  the  books  which  he 
had  brought. 

Some  were  printed  in  Roman  type  and  looked  dread- 
fully scientific.  However,  they  were  intelligible,  and 
Lilly  took  up  one  after  the  other.  What  she  read  sent 
the  blood  coursing  turbulently  through  her  veins,  and 
mounted  to  her  head  like  sweet  wine. 

All  the  books  spoke  of  the  **will  to  power,''  **the  free 
man,"  *'the  right  to  live  one's  life,"  '*the  religion  of 
passion,"  and  similar  things.  In  each  pure  beauty  was 
extolled  as  the  goal  of  human  endeavours ;  in  each  the  word 
*' individuality "  recurred  numberless  times  in  numberless 
connections.  Each  taught  you  to  look  down  upon  your 
fellow-beings  with  vigorous  pride,  and  despise  them  as  a 
blunted,  debased,  tortured  and  enslaved  mass.  In  each 
you  wandered  along  in  blessed  solitude — or  in  the  company 
of  a  very  few  like-minded,  noble  souls — on  free  wind- 
swept mountain  heights  surrounded  by  an  eternally  bright 
ether. 

It  was  a  constant  offering  of  incense,  an  insatiable  lash- 
ing of  oneself  into  satiety,  pleasant  murder,  hymn-singing 
rape.  The  main  subjects  invariably  were  intoxication, 
dreams,  life's  festivals,  and  ecstasy. 

Thus,  a  veil  of  intoxication  and  dreams  was  spread  over 
Lilly's  soul.     She  felt  she  was  enveloped  in  a  sapphire 


414  The  Song  of  Songs 

haze  shot  with  the  purple  of  a  distant  glow.  She  Heard 
hot,  wrathful  music  storming  onward  in  discords  like 
maenads  tearing  down  every  hindrance  in  their  way.  She 
felt  she  was  climbing  up  perpendicular  rocks,  ever  higher, 
ever  higher,  fighting  the  whole  time  against  the  dizziness 
which  threatened  to  cast  her  back  into  the  abyss.  But 
she  did  not  sink.  She  clung  to  the  edge,  which  bruised 
her  hands,  and  laughed  down — laughed — laughed — at  the 
sorry  wretches  there  below  crawling  along  in  flocks,  per- 
mitting themselves  to  be  ground  to  death  for  their  bit  of 
daily  bread.  * 

Then  she  felt  sorry  that  she  alone  had  scaled  such 
heights,  that  she  alone  should  be  up  there  enjoying  the 
wild,  golden  sunlight,  while  all  the  others  little  conceived 
that  deliverance  was  at  hand.  She  wanted  to  hold  out  her 
hand  to  her  poor,  starving  brothers  and  sisters  and  draw 
them  up  after  her.  But  they  could  not  understand  her 
message  of  salvation — ^he  had  said  ** message  of  salvation.'* 
She  saw  wasting  faces,  dank  with  the  sweat  of  death; 
glassy  eyes  unable  to  turn  from  the  gleaming  penny,  their 
pay.     She  saw  pregnant  bodies,  swollen  yet  emaciated. 

The  working  woman  in  Richard's  wrapping  room  re- 
curred to  her.  She  recalled  her  hands  flying  in  feverish 
haste  about  the  swaying  doll.  She  and  others  recurred  to 
Lilly,  with  the  timid  hate  and  the  hopeless  yearning  in 
their  weary  eyes. 

Her  unhappy  love  for  the  factory,  which  she  thought 
had  been  extinguished  forever  on  that  day  of  shame,  awoke 
within  her  again,  as  a  quiet, -painful  tenderness,  like  the 
spring  anticipations  that  tremble  in  us  when  the  February 
snows  begin  to  melt. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  hardly  the  sense  or  purpose  of  Dr. 
Salmoni's  books.  But  they  served  another  purpose  most 
admirably.    Her  faint  toothache  rose  to  a  veritable  an- 


The  Song  of  Songs  415 

guish.  The  desire  for  a  man,  any  man  not  Richard,  who 
understood  her  and  swept  her  along  with  him,  over- 
whelmed her  with  such  force  that  she  could  only  twist 
this  way  and  that  and  feel  she  would  perish  under  the 
lash. 

Somewhere  the  "one"  was  surely  to  be  found.  Was  it 
not  possible  for  a  favouring  wave  in  this  sea  of  humanity  to 
toss  him  to  her  feet? 

One  evening  she  put  on  simple,  dark  clothes — she  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  seamstress  returning  from  work — 
and  slipped  down  the  street,  as  she  used  to  when  Rich- 
ard's house  drew  her  to  it  with  a  thousand  secret  threads. 

Since  she  was  unskilled  in  strolling  about  aimlessly  and 
needed  a  goal,  she  listened  to  the  voice  of  her  newly 
awakened  love,  and  took  the  accustomed  route  to  Alte 
Jakobstrasse.  On  the  way  she  shudderingly  avoided  two 
old  beaux  and  a  fresh  clerk. 

The  latticed  gates  of  the  famous  marble-columned  portal 
cried  an  iron  * '  Halt ! ' ' 

She  stood  a  long  time  pressed  up  against  her  old  door 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  stared  at  the  house 
to  which  fate  had  anchored  her. 

Lights  were  burning  in  his  mother's  room. 

The  two  gas  jets  of  the  chandelier  resembled  her  cold, 
clear  eyes.  The  rest  of  the  jets  were  not  turned  on,  prob- 
ably from  motives  of  economy. 

Of  the  factory  nothing  was  to  be  seen  save  the  dark  top 
of  the  chimney  towering  above  the  roof  of  the  house  in 
front. 

A  sorry  greeting.  Nevertheless  a  greeting.  She  would 
have  liked  to  say  *  *  How  do  you  do  ? "  to  the  beloved  stair- 
case also.    But  she  no  longer  dared  to  cross  the  street. 

Then,  as  if  after  a  good  deed  accomplished,  she  turned 
homeward  feeling  at  ea«e. 


416  The  Song  of  Songs  I 

She  repeated  the  visit  three  times  in  the  course  of  the 
week.  She  began  to  feel  that  the  aimless  journeys  were 
a  life  necessity. 

Once,  just  as  she  was  disposing  herself  comfortably  in 
her  protecting  doorway,  an  elegant  slim  gentleman,  who 
evidently  had  come  the  same  way  behind  her,  stopped  and 
raised  his  hat. 

Dr.  Salmoni. 

Lilly  in  her  fright  nearly  forgot  to  return  his  greeting. 

If  he  were  to  betray  her  to  Richard!  Richard  would 
assume  that  jealousy,  or  even  worse,  had  driven  her  there. 

**Well,  well,"  began  Dr.  Salmoni,  complacently  rolling 
the  words  in  his  mouth.  *'It  strikes  me  as  somewhat 
touching  that  we  should  meet  directly  opposite  Liebert  & 
Dehnicke.  As  you  know,  I'm  a  gentle  nature,  a  soul  in 
socks,  as  it  were.  So  I  refrain  from  asking  you  what 
stirrings  of  your  heart  prompted  you  to  come  here.  You 
know  the  fairy-tale  of  the  queen  who  sallied  forth  to 
find  her  king,  and  ended  in  finding  a  swineherd.  Thus  a 
pearl  may  stray  into  a  bronze  ware  factory.  I  should  not 
have  permitted  myself  to  follow  you  intentionally.  I  was 
seduced  by  a  certain  play  of  lines  and  curves.  Perhaps 
a  certain  suspicion  of  brilliance  shone  through — but  a 
young  pheasant  should  not  be  shot  out  of  season.  Let  your 
fruit  ripen,  is  a  very  sound  motto,  and  not  only  with  re- 
spect to  soi-disant  love.  But  it's  questionable  whether 
mottoes  are  worth  the  while.  They  smack  of  respectabil- 
ity, and  respectability  smacks  of  Virginia  tobacco,  and 
Virginia  tobacco  smells,  and  is  celebrated  far  and  wide 
hecause  it  smells.     Do  you  get  my  profound  meaning?" 

*'I  should  like  to  leave  this  spot,"  said  Lilly.  *'If  we 
were  to  be  seen  here!" 

*'0h,  here  of  all  places  we  may  be  seen  together,"  he 
rejoined,  laughing  with  childlike  glee.    **It  would  take  a 


The  Song  of  Songs  417 

perverse  imagination  to  assume  that  we  selected  this  very 
house  for  a  secret  rendezvous.     But  as  you  wish. ' ' 

He  offered  her  his  arm.     She  declined. 

They  walked  side  by  side  through  dark,  tortuous  streets 
to  the  farther  west  side. 

He  talked  to  her  steadily.  One  idea  suggested  another. 
One  wheel  of  fire  set  free  another.  Sometimes  it  appeared 
to  Lilly  he  had  totally  forgotten  her  presence  and  was 
speaking  for  his  own  delight  in  the  play  of  his  fancy. 
What  he  said  seemed  to  have  no  bearing  upon  herself  and 
her  sorry  existence. 

But  no,  she  was  mistaken.  His  gold  had  been  coined 
for  her  after  all.  He  merely  gave  too  much,  and  her  brain 
lacked  space  to  receive  all  of  it. 

He  walked  with  an  elastic,  somewhat  tripping  tread. 
His  cane,  stuck  head  downward  in  his  coat  pocket,  tapped 
against  his  shoulder.  His  white  silk  necktie  gleamed. 
She  saw  nothing  else  of  •  him.  And  he  talked,  talked. 
Sometimes  she  felt  that  she  was  being  boxed  on  the  ear, 
and  anon  that  she  was  being  stroked  tenderly. 

When  he  made  mock  of  Kichard  and  Richard's  friends, 
she  wanted  to  contradict  him,  but  he  never  mentioned 
names.  Besides  she  had  always  thought  the  same,  it  seemed 
to  her. 

He  alluded  cautiously  to  her  aristocratic  past,  chose  pic- 
tures from  country  life,  extolled  discreet  horseback  rides 
d  deux,  and  the  transports  awakened  by  reddish,  golden 
dawns.  Lilly  felt  he  had  been  present  at  all  the  events 
of  her  life. 

**I  have  lived  a  good  deal  in  castles,**  he  added  by  way 
of  explanation.     **I  know  it  all.'* 

Oh,  if  his  past  had  been  similar ! 

So  he  drilled  ever  deeper  into  her  soul. 

When  he  began  to  speak  of  the  books  he  had  brought 


418  The  Song  of  Songs 

her — he  considerately  ignored  her  having  denied  herseU 
the  time  he  had  called — she  ventured  a  languid  resistance. 

*' Please  don't  lend  me  anything  of  the  sort  again,'*  she 
entreated. 

**Whynot?" 

**The  books  confuse  and  sicken  me — I  don't  know. 
You  said  they  would  lead  me  to  myself.  On  the  contrary. 
It  seemed  to  me  everything  was  growing  strange  which  I 
had  once  looked  upon  as  right  and  sacred. 

*' Perhaps  it  should  be  so,"  he  replied,  setting  his  cane 
a-dancing.  **  Perhaps  that  is  the  prime  demand  I  have  to 
make  of  you  in  the  name  of  a  higher  life.  Let  me  tell  you 
a  little  fable  apropos.  Once  upon  a  time  there  were  two 
good  old  missionaries.  To  satisfy  a  strong  spiritual  crav- 
ing they  wanted  to  spread  Christianity  in  Central  Africa. 
There  is  really  no  need  for  such  queer  fish,  but  they  do 
exist,  and  we  must  accept  the  fact.  They  took  a  small 
portable  organ  with  them  for  .enhancing  the  solemnity  of 
their  sermons.  In  the  sweat  of  their  brows  and  the  en- 
couraging heat  of  the  tropics,  they  dragged  it  hundreds 
of  miles  into  the  interior,  where  dwelt  the  poor  naked 
savages  upon  whom  they  had  designs.  There  they  set 
their  organ  down  and  began  to  play.  But  scarcely  did 
the  poor  naked  savages  hear  the  first  chords,  when  they 
took  up  their  clubs  and  beat  the  good  missionaries  to  death 
— on  account  of  the  spirits,  of  course,  who  resided  in  the 
chest.  Life  does  the  same  to  us  if  we  attempt  to  play 
on  the  good  old  organ  of  our  moral  exactions." 

Lilly  felt  she  could  not  cope  with  his  superior  intellect. 

Now  he  laid  her  arm  in  his  without  question,  and  she 
did  not  venture  to  withdraw  it. 

They  walked  along  lowering  factory  walls,  amid  whose 
dark  masses  a  lantern  now  and  then  spread  its  milky  cir- 


The  Song  of  Songs  419 

cle  of  light.  Scaffoldings  stretched  their  bony  arms  to  the 
sulphur-coloured  sky,  and  from  parallel  streets  came  the  in- 
termittent clang  of  electric  tram  gongs. 

** Where  are  we  going?''  asked  Lilly,  anxiously. 

**We're  going  out  of  the  way  of  society.  And  if  I 
wanted  to  exploit  the  present  conjuncture  of  circumstances 
I  should  profit  by  your  being  lost,  your  feeling  that  you 
need  protection.  But  I'm  not  a  calculating  nature.  In 
matters  of  emotion  I'm  like  a  child.  I  take  whatever  the 
heavens  rain  down  on  me.    Aren  't  you  the  same  way  1 ' ' 

**I'm  too  heavy,"  replied  Lilly,  ready  to  bare  her  soul 
to  him.  *'I'm  full  of  scruples.  I  think  a  lot  over  every- 
thing." 

**The  question  is  what  you  think/'  he  said  gaily. 

She  wanted  to  reply  and  talk  to  him— tell  him  all  her 
thoughts.  She  felt  like  holding  out  her  heart  on  her  open 
palm,  so  that  nothing  should  remain  concealed  from  him. 
But  shame  before  his  great  wisdom  sealed  her  lips. 

*'Why  do  you  take  the  trouble  to  bother  with  a  stupid 
thing  like  me?"  she  asked,  to  show  him  her  humility  at 
least. 

**  Perhaps  because  I  have  a  mission  to  fulfil  in  your  life. 
*  Perhaps,'  I  say,  because  one  can  never  be  sure  whether 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  reflex  action  of  the  emotions.  Cer- 
tain moments  psychologiques  will  teach  us." 

Though  his  meaning  was  not  at  all  clear  to  Lilly,  a  hesi- 
tating sense  of  happiness  stole  over  her  that  so  mighty  a 
man  should  actually  concern  himself  with  her. 

**You  are  entirely  in  his  power,"  she  thought,  **and  you 
will  be  whatever  he  wants  you  to  be." 

At  that  moment  he  drew  her  arm  a  little  closer,  and  her 
pressure  in  response  brought  his  hand  for  an  instant  on 
her  breast. 


'420  The  Song  of  Songs 

She  was  overwhelmed  with  fright.  He  might  think  she 
was  offering  herself  to  him.  If  he  were  to  take  her  home, 
were  to  ask — 

*'I'd  like  to  get  into  a  tram/'  she  faltered.  **I'm  very- 
tired. '^ 

He  whistled  for  a  cab,  which  just  then  came  swaying 
out  of  the  fog. 

**No,  no,"  she  burst  out,  thinking  of  nothing  but  that  she 
must  not  lightly  forego  the  joy  of  his  friendship.  *'Not 
with  you — I  must  go  home  alone — on  account — " 

She  tore  her  arm  from  his  and  ran  to  the  next  stopping 
place  so  quickly  that  he  was  just  about  able  to  reach  her 
before  she  jumped  on  the  first  tram  that  came  along.  She 
scarcely  said  good-by. 

The  smile  with  which  he  looked  after  her  was  by  no 
means  melancholy. 

He  might,  he  should  triumph. 

She,  Lilly  Czepanek,  was  once  again  aspiring  to  the 
heights. 

Three  days  later  they  met  again;  this  time  in  a  large 
company  which  had  visited  a  cafe  chantant,  and  was  to 
wind  up  the  evening  at  a  respectable  bodega. 

Unluckily  somebody  else  took  the  seat  at  her  side,  which 
she  had  carefully  reserved  for  him. 

That  upset  her. 

The  champagne  heated  up  everybody's  spirits. 

Lilly,  out  of  spite  and  boredom,  drank  more  than  was 
good  for  her. 

Provocative  merriness  burned  in  her  eyes.  Her  cheeks 
took  on  the  Baldwin  apple  hue  that  they  all  dearly  loved. 
Her  laughter  rang  out  clear,  her  body  moved  more  non- 
chalantly. 


The  Song  of  Songs  421 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  general  outcry:  ** Lilly!  Lilly! 
We  want  Lilly  !^' 

Terror  stopped  her  pulse. 

She  had  never  ventured  to  perform  in  his  presence.  In 
fact,  she  had  not  been  asked  to  when  he  had  been  there, 
for  then  he  formed  the  centre  of  attraction. 

But  she  felt: 

**I  can  do  it  to-day.  To-day  I  will  show  him  what  I 
am.'' 

She  rose,  brushed  her  hair  from  her  forehead,  and  gave 
herself  a  little  shake,  as  was  her  wont  when  she  jerked 
aside  the  everyday  Lilly,  the  craven-hearted  Lilly,  the 
Lilly  of  the  oppressed  feelings,  the  Lilly  who  feared  to 
face  her  fellow-beings,  the  stiff-jointed  Lilly. 

She  made  a  dash  and  began. 

First  she  imitated  the  beautiful  Otero,  and  crowed  and 
cuckooed.  Her  auditors  rolled  with  laughter.  Then  she 
hit  off  certain  cabaret  stars.  Sucking  her  fingers  like  an 
innocent  babe,  she  sang  in  flute  tones:  ** Please  let  me  in 
your  room/' 

She  croaked  in  a  droll,  bull-frog  bass:  *^Once  I  was 
ambassador,"  and  peeping  from  behind  the  clothes  rack 
she  cooed  the  song  of  the  passionate  dove:  *'Coo — coo — 
coo — kick!" 

They  insisted  on  her  concluding  with  a  fandango.  She 
protested.     In  vain. 

They  shoved  the  tables  against  the  wall,  and  Lilly,  mak- 
ing her  own  music  through  her  teeth,  whirled  about  the 
room  more  madly  than  ever  before,  and  finally  collapsed 
in  a  corner  almost  swooning. 

The  tumult  of  applause  promised  never  to  subside. 

The  women  kissed  her  again  and  again,  the  men  stroked 
her  hair  and  arms,  the  stiff  district  attorney  sounded  a 


422  The  Song  of  Songs 

trumpet  blast,  and  Richard,  quite  pale  with  pride,  stood 
there  in  his  Napoleon  attitude,  tugging  at  his  moustache. 

But  Dr.  Salmoni  remained  at  a  distance,  sad  and  modest, 
as  if  it  all  concerned  him  not  in  the  least. 

The  only  sign  by  which  she  knew  he  realised  it  was  all 
meant  for  him  was  a  rapid  glance  of  understanding  which 
he  threw  to  her  like  a  laurel  wreath. 

She  was  still  rocking  in  the  tempest  when  the  company 
prepared  to  break  up. 

That  had  been  intoxication,  the  sort  of  which  he  had 
spoken.  It  hissed  like  a  flame  through  her  heart  and 
limbs. 

Dr.  Salmoni  himself  helped  her  on  with  her  fur  coat — 
Richard  was  busy  paying  the  waiter — and  while  he  de- 
liberately laid  the  sable  scarf  about  her  shoulders,  he  whis- 
pered close  to  her  ear: 

**May  I  come  to-morrow?*' 

**Yes,"  she  screamed,  alarmed  at  herself. 

Then  in  defiance  of  her  own  cowardice,  she  turned  ab- 
ruptly on  her  heels  and  shouted  sharply,  as  in  anger,  di- 
rectly in  his  face: 

'*Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes!*' 

** What's  the  matter?"  everybody  asked. 

She  merely  laughed  shortly.  What  did  she  care  for  the 
others?    Wasn't  she  aspiring  to  the  heights  again? 

The  next  morning  it  was  all  a  spectral  dream.  The  one 
clear  point  was:     **He's  coming." 

With  ihe  applause  still  ringing  in  her  ears  she  had 
stretched  herself  and  thought: 

**Now  he  knows  what  I  am.  Now  he  knows  I'm  no  dull, 
shrivelled,  half-way  creature  for  the  valleys,  no  slave  na- 
ture, no  sheep  that  runs  with  the  flock,  no  Mrs.  Grundy- 
made  fool,  who  voluntarily  conforms  to  each  and  every; 


The  Song  of  Songs  423 

convention.  Now  he  knows  I'm  a  free,  proud  woman, 
who,  like  himself,  drinks  in  the  light  on  the  heights,  one 
of  those  complete  women,  those  maenads  who  dance  a  wild 
dance  over  abysms  and  mock  at  death  even  when  he  has 
them  in  his  clutches.'* 

Then  her  faintheartedness  crept  over  her  again.  What 
after  all  had  she  done  besides  drink  herself  into  a  cham- 
pagne mood,  sing  a  few  comic  songs,  and  dance  an  aban- 
doned dance  ?  She  had  behaved  like  a  music-hall  danseuse, 
and  had  harvested  the  very  doubtful  approval  of  a  semi- 
intoxicated  audience. 

If  that  alone  was  required  for  belonging  to  the  elect, 
to  the  mighty,  laughing,  chosen  ones,  of  whom  Dr.  Sal- 
moni's  books  spoke! 

No,  oh,  no!  After  last  night's  performance  he  could 
feel  nothing  but  contempt  for  her,  or,  at  most,  pity.  It 
was  to  tell  her  this  te  her  face  that  he  would  come  to  visit 
her,  if  at  all.  He  would  let  her  feel  her  lowness  and  then 
go  his  own  way,  benevolent  but  untouched. 

She  would  not  suffer  him  to  go.  She  would  cling  to  him 
and  cry: 

*  *  You  promised  to  lead  me  up  to  the  heights  out  of  these 
depths  of  distress,  out  of  this  insipid  existence,  out  of  this 
void!  Be  true  to  your  word.  Do  not  desert  m3.  I  will 
do  whatever  you  wish.  I  will  be  your  thing,  your  crea- 
ture.    But  don 't  desert  me. ' ' 

In  feverish  expectancy  she  dressed,  waved  her  hair,  and 
rouged  her  lips,  pale  from  nights  of  pleasure.  She  made 
herself  as  beautiful  as  she  could. 

A  little  before  twelve  the  bell  rang. 

He? 

No.    Mrs.  3rula. 

As  if  by  mutual  agreement  she  and  Mrs.  Jula  had 
avoided  each  other  siuce  that  evening  of  confidences.    And 


^424  The  Song  of  Songs 

now,  without  having  announced  her  visit,  here  she  stood, 
wearing  her  most  cordial  expression,  and  asking  for  a  brief 
interview. 

Lilly  hesitated. 

*'Keally  I  shan't  keep  you  long,  my  dear.  I  under- 
stand— you're  expecting  some  one." 

**Not  that  I  know  of,"  replied  Lilly,  aware  she  was 
blushing. 

*' Don't  deny  it.  Dr.  Salmoni  is  coming.  I  know  the 
joke.  I  once  stood  the  same  way,  pale  one  instant,  the 
next  instant  red,  and  waited  for  him.  The  only  differ- 
ence is,  my  house  gown  wasn't  such  an  angelic  red.  It 
was  plain  Bordeaux  red.  All  the  same  to  him.  He  takes 
us  in  Bordeaux  red,  too." 

**What  do  you  mean?"  Lilly  faltered. 

'*What  do  I  mean?  Do  you  know  what  our  circle  with 
all  our  pretty  legeres  women  is  to  Dr.  Salmoni?  It's  a 
sort  of  fishing  pool,  where  he  angles  from  time  to  time  to 
land  something  for  which  he  just  then  happens  to  have  an 
appetite.     There  you  have  it,  my  dear!" 

** That's  slander!"  cried  Lilly,  flaring  up.  **He's  never 
made  approaches  to  me.  We've  never  so  much  as  men- 
tioned the  word  love  to  each  other. ' ' 

"No  need,"  replied  Mrs.  Jula,  and  laughed  exultingly. 
**He  doesn't  bother  with  such  petty  things.  He  knows 
when  the  time  comes  we  shall  swim  into  his  net  without 
it." 

Lilly  felt  herself  getting  still  angrier. 

*  *  We  've  always  spoken  of  pure,  noble  things,  of  a  proud, 
free  humanity.  And  if  you  and  your  like  cannot  under- 
stand his  language,  if  you  insist — " 

*'One  moment,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Jula  interrupted  her. 
**No  need  to  be  insulting.  I  came  to  you  out  of  good 
motives.    As  for  the  others — it  was  toute  meme  chose  to 


The  Song  of  Songs  425 

me.  I  even  licked  my  chops.  But  you,  I  love  you,  even 
if  you  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me.  You 
he 's  to  leave  as  you  are.  And  last  night,  when  I  saw  how 
far  things  had  gone,  I  couldn  't  quiet  down.  I  had  to  come 
to  you  before  he — '* 

*' Really,  you're  mistaken,''  said  Lilly,  though  unable  to 
refrain  from  a  furtive  glance  at  the  clock. 

Mrs.  Jula,  upon  whom  the  glance  was  not  lost,  made  a 
little  grimace. 

* '  Never  mind.  When  the  bell  rings  I  '11  slide  out  through 
the  guest  room.  But  before  then  I  am  in  hopes  of  hav- 
ing completed  my  work.  See  here,  child" — she  seated 
herself  at  one  end  of  the  sofa  and  drew  Lilly  down  be- 
side her — **why,  all  of  us  poor  women  crave  to  rise  again, 
or  once  did,  when  like  you  we  were  tolerably  faithful  to 
the  one.  At  the  psychological  moment,  enter  Dr.  Salmoni. 
He  doesn  't  have  to  work  so  hard  for  some  of  us,  but  he 
seems  to  like  it.  He  must  first  salivate  on  us  like  an  adder 
on  a  sparrow.  He  has  various  methods.  With  a  cold 
mug  like  Karla,  of  course,  he  behaves  very  differently 
from  the  way  he  behaves  with  such  as  you  or  me.  To  us 
he  says  in  the  beginning:  *'I  cannot  get  over  my  aston- 
ishment at  seeing  you  in  these  surroundings.  Tell  me, 
what  seek  you  here  ? '  * 

Lilly  started. 

**Well,  did  he,  or  didn't  he?" 

*^Yes— but— " 

**Very  well,  yes.  That's  all  I  want  to  know.  Then  he 
describes  the  dangers  threatening  us  provided  we  continue 
to  live  in  chains.  His  pet  abomination  is  duty.  He  can- 
not bear  it.  As  if  we  were  so  awfully  particular  about 
our  little  bit  of  duty,  ijordy!  Well,  is  that  the  way  it 
went?" 

**Yes — but — "  stammered  Lilly. 


426  The  Song  of  Songs 

''Good.  Then  he  will  deliver  us.  He  will  guide  us. 
He's  the  mountain  guide  ordained.  'Upward — up  to  the 
heights!'    N^est-ce  pasf^' 

Lilly  turned  her  face  away  to  conceal  her  blush  of 
shame. 

"Next  in  turn  come  the  books.  Miserable  palaver  writ- 
ten by  immature  little  scribblers  in  imitation  of  the  great 
Nietzsche.  Nevertheless  we  all  fall  into  the  trap.  It  gets 
into  our  blood  like  Spanish  fly.  It  quite  befuddles  us. 
The  thing  that  so  infuriates  us  afterwards  is  that  we  actu- 
ally believed  in  the  scoundrel's  woebegone  pathos,  although 
the  mangiest  cynicism  crops  out  of  every  pore  of  his  body. 
But  we're  such  sheep,  and  he's  so  clever — so  clever.  Yes, 
he  IS  clever.     You  must  give  the  devil  his  due." 

"But  how  does  he  manage,"  asked  Lilly,  who  no  longer 
dared  to  shield  him,  "how  does  he  manage  to  make  it  ap- 
pear that  he  lived  through  our  entire  past  with  us?" 

"Yes,  child.  People  in  similar  circumstances  usually 
have  similar  experiences.  He  can  easily  reconstruct  our 
past — ef  those  of  us  who  came  from  the  country.  I'm  a 
landed  proprietor's  daughter.  Didn't  he  tell  you  in  a  by- 
the-way  that  he  had  passed  a  great  part  of  his  youth  in 
castles?" 

Lilly  assented. 

"Later  I  learned  he  had  been  private  tutor  to  a  Jew 
living  on  a  leased  estate  near  Breslau.  But  they  bounced 
him  pretty  soon  because  he  was  saucy." 

In  the  midst  of  her  sad  disenchantment  Lilly  had  to 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Fine,"  said  her  friend  in  approval,  stroking  her  hands. 
"You  may  well  feel  happy.  I  wish  «cmeone  had  come  to 
me  the  same  way.     Because  afterwards,  oh,  how  it  hurts ! ' ' 

"Yes,  tell  me,  how  is  it — afterwards?"  asked  Lilly,  hes- 
itatingly. 


The  Song  of  Songs  427 

'*Very  simple.  After  he's  gotten  what  he  wants,  finis. 
He  buttons  up  his  coat,  says  in  a  voice  quivering  with  emo- 
tion, 'at*  revoir/  but  there  never  is  a  revoir.  You  never 
see  him  again." 

** Impossible !' '  cried  Lilly,  horror-stricken.  **A  man 
can't  treat  a  woman  so  currishly." 

**You — never — see — him — again,  I  tell  you.  What  do 
you  suppose?  The  man  has  weightier  matters  to  attend 
to.  I  wrote  my  fingers  sore — not  a  line  in  reply.  Mrs. 
Welter  lay  on  his  threshold.  Karla  got  the  jaundice,  she 
was  so  furious.  And  so  on.  But  his  name  is  eel.  When 
you  meet  him  later  in  company,  you  don't  read  the  faintest 
recollection  in  his  eyes.  At  the  very  most  he  *  jollies'  you 
like  the  rest. " 

Lilly,  alarmed,  brought  it  home  to  herself  that  she,  too, 
had  ''later"  encountered  a  conscience  in  company  and  had 
forcibly  extinguished  every  recollection,  no  matter  how 
much  the  conscience  besought  her  with  his  comically  mourn- 
ful glances.  One  person  behaved  like  the  other  in  this 
world  where  you  threw  your  dignity  away  like  an  ill-fitting 
dress. 

She  hid  her  face  on  the  sofa  arm  shaken  with  a  storm 
of  shame  and  guilt. 

** Never  mind,"  Mrs.  Jula  comforted  her.  ** Nothing  has 
happened  yet." 

The  bell  i'ang. 

Lilly  hurried  to  the  kitchen  to  tell  the  maid  to  dismiss 
the  visitor,  but  Mrs.  Jula  restrained  her. 

** What's  gotten  into  your  head?"  she  whispered. 
"Would  you  have  him  think  you're  afraid  of  him?  That 
way  you'll  never  be  rid  of  him.  Laugh  at  him.  Do  you 
understand?    Laugh  at  him — long  and  hard." 

Lilly  wanted  to  run  after  her  and  beg  her  to  remain. 


428  The  Song  of  Songs 

Was  she,  Lilly,  his  match?  He  was  already  entering  the 
room. 

Drawn  to  her  full  height  she  looked  at  him  as  at  a  deadly 
enemy. 

*'My  dear  child,"  he  said,  kissing  her  hand,  which  she 
quickly  withdrew. 

He  had  exercised  great  care  in  dressing.  He  wore 
straw-coloured  gloves,  and  held  his  silk  hat  pressed  to  his 
breast.  His  monocle  danced  on  his  white  waistcoat.  An 
air  of  smug  self-confidence,  of  unpretentious  mastery  en- 
veloped his  being  like  a  mild  glory.  The  way  he  settled 
himself  comfortably  in  his  chair,  the  way  he  amiably 
crossed  his  legs  indicated  that  of  course  she  had  been  sub- 
jugated. 

Lilly  was  no  longer  fearful  or  timid,  nor  did  she  ex- 
perience the  pangs  of  disillusionment.  She  was  simply 
possessed  of  cool,  conscious  curiosity. 

She  followed  each  of  his  movements  with  astonished  eyes, 
as  he  passed  his  hand  over  his.  shining  hair  cut  brush 
fashion,  and  pulled  his  trousers  up  and  exposed  the  red- 
dotted  stockings  on  his  ankles. 

She  kept  saying  to  herself : 

**So  that's  what  you  are,  that's  what  you  are." 

He  began  to  speak  in  a  soft,  compassionate,  caressing 
voice,  while  his  peering  eyes  glided  up  and  down  her 
body. 

^'You're  excited,  dear  child.  I  understand.  When  two 
people  like  us  are  brought  alone  together  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives,  their  feelings  run  away  with  them.  Don't 
be  ashamed.  What  led  us  to  each  other  is  such  a  delicate, 
subtle  understanding — the  fluid  between  us  is  of  such  a 
rare,  fleeting  quality — " 

"Yes — fleeting,  especially,"  thought  Lilly. 


The  Song  of  Songs  429 

** — that  it  would  really  be  a  shame  if  we  did  not  taste 
every  drop  of  it.  And  a  superabundance  of  feelings  would 
simply  be  a  hindrance  to  the  spiritual  epicureanism  in 
both  of  us,  particularly  in  me." 

As  he  spoke,  slightly  smacking  his  lips  and  swaying  back 
and  forth,  the  refrain  of  a  Viennese  ditty  in  her  repertoire 
occurred  to  her :    *  *  I  have  much  too  much  sentiment. ' ' 

**He  has  much  too  much  sentiment,"  she  said  to  herself, 
and  smiled  involuntarily. 

He  saw  the  smile,  which  she  tried  to  conceal  by  lower- 
ing her  face,  but  he  misinterpreted  it. 

** There  is  a  coy  virginity  about  you,"  he  said  with  an 
admiring  shake  of  his  head,  **  which  always  fills  me  with  as- 
tonishment. ' ' 

**0h,  you  jackanapes,"  thought  Lilly,  and  smiled  again. 

Now  he  hesitated  a  bit.  He  had  not  had  all  his  experi- 
ence for  nothing,  and  a  flash  of  greed  and  suspicion  darted 
from  between  his  lids. 

*'0h,"  he  continued,  **has  some  of  the  delightful  humour 
that  you  surj^rised  us  with  last  night  remained  over  for 
to-day." 

''Perhaps,"  she  replied  with  an  upward  glance  which 
was  ahnost  coquettish. 

"Oh,  splendid !"  he  cried.  His  face  now  brightened  into 
a  mischievous  smile,  in  which  gaiety  and  devilishness  coun- 
terbalanced each  other.  **Are  you  one  of  those  who  can 
laugh  in  her  sleeve  at — at — how  shall  I  say? — at  the  whole 
humbuggery  of  it  all — and  at  yourself?  At  yourself,  my 
child,  tliat's  the  main  thing.  Then  you  and  I  are  one — 
nothing  divides  us.     Then — " 

''May  God  forgive  me,"  she  thought,  and  held  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  mouth  to  suppress  her  tittering. 

*' Laugh  at  him,"  Mrs.  Jula  had  said. 


430  The  Song  of  Songs 

But  he  seemed  to  take  it  as  an  invitation,  as  a  delicate, 
friendly  hint  to  cut  the  preamble  short;  for  he  sprang  to- 
ward her  and  clasped  her  body. 

She  pushed  him  back — she  wrestled  with  him. 

Tears  of  shame  and  indignation  welled  up  in  her  eyes. 

"What  sort  of  a  thing  have  I  become?**  a  voice  within 
her  cried,  while  she  struck  at  him  with  her  fists. 

In  the  midst  of  the  struggle  she  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  bell. 

The  maid  appeared. 

He  picked  up  his  hat  from  the  carpet,  murmured  some- 
thing like  ** riffraff,"  and  disappeared. 

Disappeared  also  from  the  little  circle  that  he  had  some- 
times honoured  with  his  presence. 

Henceforth  Lilly  ceased  to  aspire  to  the  heights. 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  next  year  Lilly  went  through  two  little  love  affairs 
which  were  of  no  significance  in  her  after  life.  ' 

During  a  four  weeks'  stay  in  the  Riesengebirge,  she  met 
a  novelist  whose  name  was  then  on  everybody's  lips.  He 
was  airing  his  newly  acquired  fame  in  the  Bohemian  re- 
sorts and  plucking  what  flowers  he  found  by  the  roadside. 
He  forced  himself  upon  Lilly  without  much  ceremony, 
and  a  few  days  later  went  his  way  in  search  of  pastures 
new. 

And  in  Berlin  she  favoured  a  handsome,  extremely  ele- 
gant hussar  of  the  Guards,  who  had  flirted  with  her  from 
his  seat  at  the  next  table  in  an  aristocratic  restaurant.  But 
he  wounded  her  pride  by  attempting  to  repay  her  with  a 
little  leather  box  which  came  from  the  jeweler's.  She  sent 
back  the  box  and  turned  him  off. 

She  disliked  the  thought  of  both  adventures,  and  soon 
wiped  them  entirely  from  her  memory. 

At  Christmas  a  companion  came  to  live  with  her.  She 
had  frequently  complained  to  Richard  that  her  life  was 
empty ;  she  craved  something  alive  and  loving  to  take  care 
of.  So  he  gave  her  a  little  naked  monkey  which  could  not 
warm  itself  even  in  her  bosom.  When  angry,  the  monkey 
spat  bis  scorn  of  her  yearning  in  her  face. 

Every  now  and  then  a  marriage  scheme  was  again  pro- 
pounded. 

Lilly  knew  the  signs  perfectly. 

When  Richard  paced  through  all  the  rooms,  taciturn  and 
distraught,  wrinkling  his  forehead ;  when  apropos  of  noth- 

431 


432  The  Song  of  Songs 

ing  he  began  to  philosophise  on  the  futility  of  all  things 
earthly;  when  mama  required  the  carriage  at  unwonted 
hours,  and  little  packages  of  concert  and  opera  tickets 
filled  his  purse,  she  knew  something  was  impending. 

And  then  it  seldom  lasted  long  before  Richard  broke 
silence. 

One  had  two  millions,  the  other  three.  Influential  rela- 
tives, mines,  factories,  legacies,  government  contracts,  whole 
blocks  of  houses,  and  innumerable  building  lots  nodded  in 
the  distance. 

Sometimes  Lilly's  drawing-room  hummed  with  so  many 
figures  that  it  might  have  been  a  stockbroker's  office. 

One  of  the  prospective  brides  even  was  poor.  But  she 
was  a  general's  daughter,  and  mama  adored  her. 

*'I'm  a  general's  widow,"  said  Lilly. 

Whether  rich  or  poor,  they  all  disappeared,  because  none 
of  them  was  good  enough  for  him. 

Lilly  meditated  and  schemed ;  this  is  the  way  she  should 
be,  and  this  way,  and  this  way.  She  must  have  white, 
column-like  arms  such  as  the  Danish  girl  at  the  carnival; 
and  she  must  have  an  extremely  delicate,  scarcely  percepti- 
ble bosom — her  own  seemed  to  Lilly  to  have  become  too  vo- 
luptuous— and  when  she  laughed,  two  dimples  must  form 
in  her  cheeks,  because  dimples  were  a  sign  of  peaceableness. 

Peace  she  demanded  for  him  above  all.  She  knew  he 
could  not  bear  disputes.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they  never 
did  quarrel.  But  if  a  little  disagreement  arose,  he  went 
about  for  days  looking  miserable,  spoke  in  a  woebegone, 
sick  tone,  and  had  to  be  petted  like  a  child.  Which  she  did 
with  joy,  though  he  by  no  means  deserved  it. 

For,  whatever  the  standpoint  from  which  you  viewed 
such  things,  he  had  become  an  out  and  out  good-for-noth- 
ing. 

He  might  be  pardoned  the  very  respectable  sums  he  lost 


^he  Song  of  Songs  433 

at  the  club,  but  he  debauched  like  a  married  man,  and  his 
experiences  were  none  of  the  purest. 

One  day  a  pretty  young  thing  with  an  eight  weeks*  old 
baby  on  her  arm  came  to  Lilly  and  wept  and  screamed, 
and  declared  Lilly  must  cede  her  place  to  her  because  she 
had  the  child  by  him  and  so  the  greater  right. 

Lilly  comforted  her  and  gave  her  some  wine,  and,  filled 
with  envy,  tickled  the  baby's  wet  little  chin  until  it 
laughed.  Whereupon  the  girl  left  quieted,  and  even  kissed 
Lilly's  hand  on  parting. 

That  afternoon  Eichard  listened  to  an  eloquent  dis- 
course. 

Lilly  felt  herself  to  be  entirely  free  from  jealousy. 

"Whenever  he  appeared  looking  embarrassed  or  with  a 
crafty  expression  in  his  eyes,  his  head  inclined  all  the  way 
to  the  left,  and  radiating  an  odour  of  cheap  perfumes,  she 
always  received  him  with  an  indulgent  smile,  which  he  un- 
derstood very  well  and  feared  like  a  plague. 

However  valiant  his  resolve  to  maintain  silence,  it 
scarcely  lasted  half  an  hour  before  he  sat  there  hopelessly 
stranded,  making  partly  veiled  confessions  and  asking  for 
praise  and  comfort. 

In  a  life  of  this  sort,  which  reflected  all  the  faults  and 
perfidies  of  marriage  without  bestowing  its  sense  of  dig- 
nity and  natural  rights,  it  was  inevitable  that  Lilly  should 
withdraw  into  herself  more  and  more  and  look  forward  to 
her  future  with  increasing  gloom. 

She  passed  her  days  as  on  a  swaying  bough  in  momentary 
expectation  of  being  blown  into  the  depths.  Then  again 
her  life  seemed  to  her  like  a  straight,  bare  road,  which  gave 
no  signs  of  coming  to  an  end,  but  ever  unrolled  hopeless 
stretches  ahead. 

Always  the  same  pleasures,  the  same  faces,  the  same  aim- 
less drifting  from  place  to  place  until  dawn. 


434  The  Song  of  Songs 

Sometimes  she  felt  so  weary — as  if  after  a  day's  hard 
labour. 

Sometimes,  too,  she  went  on  strike,  and  remained  in  bed 
reading  the  Fliegende  Blatter,  or  dreaming  of  old  times 
with  closed  eyes. 

Mrs.  Asmussen's  sunless  hole  among  the  books  became  a 
paradise,  her  mush,  food  for  the  gods.  Lilly's  thoughts 
stepped  cautiously  about  the  pictures  of  her  girlhood  loves, 
as  if  it  were  a  crime  to  charm  them  back  into  being. 
From  this  arose  a  happy,  yet  fearful  presentiment  that  one 
or  the  other  of  them  would  return,  and  hold  out  his  hand, 
and  say:  **Now  you  have  strayed  in  strange  lands  long 
enough.     Come  back  home." 

Which  of  them  it  was  she  did  not  venture  to  say.  But 
one  of  them  it  must  be.  Something,  something  miist  hap- 
pen.    It  could  not  go  on  the  same  way. 

Now  and  then,  when  her  secret  disquiet  filled  her  with 
unrest,  she  took  again  to  her  nocturnal  strolls.  In  the  elec- 
tric tram  she  would  ride  to  distant  districts,  where,  with 
a  guilty  soul,  she  sauntered  along  lively  streets. 

Just  like  Mrs.  Jul  a. 

Yet  she  could  never  bring  herself  to  listen  to  any  of  her 
pursuers. 

It  was  on  one  such  excursion  in  May  far  out  on  the  north 
side,  somewhere  near  the  Rosentaler  Tor,  that  she  met  a 
young  man  who  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  her, 
who  did  not  look  like  a  gentleman,  and  yet  seemed  fa- 
miliar. 

So  familiar  that  her  heart  pained  her. 

She  racked  her  brain,  but  could  not  place  him. 

Making  up  her  mind  quickly  she  turned  about  and  fol- 
lowed him. 

He  wore  a  brown,  sweat-soaked  hat  and  a  salt  and  pep- 


The  Song  of  Songs  435 

per  suit  with  a  yellow  tinge  to  it,  which  had  seen  better 
days.  His  coat  collar  was  shiny,  and  his  knees  had  worked 
great  bags  into  his  trousers,  the  bottom  of  which  hung  in 
black  fringes  over  his  crooked  heels. 

None  of  her  friends  in  disguise.  Her  friends  wore  dif- 
ferent trousers. 

He  stopped  in  front  of  various  display  windows — a  cigar 
shop,  a  butcher's,  and,  longest  of  all,  a  haberdasher's. 
From  which  Lilly  concluded  his  undergarments  also  re- 
quired a  change. 

When  he  turned  his  profile  toward  her,  she  saw  a  lean, 
bony  face  with  a  prominent  nose  and  a  bush  of  reddish- 
brown  hair  on  either  side  of  his  chin.  He  did  not  appear 
to  be  sickly ;  rather  seedy  or  withered.  But  the  lids  of  his 
small,  slit-like  eyes  were  swollen  and  inflamed,  and  before 
he  stepped  into  the  garish  illumination  of  the  shop  win- 
dow, he  planted  dark-blue  goggles  on  his  nose. 

He  carried  a  thin  cane,  which  he  pressed  into  the  shape 
of  a  bow  on  the  pavement  and  then  let  shoot  out  straight 
again.  The  silver  handle  of  this  cane,  which  did  not 
harmonise  with  the  shabbiness  of  his  clothing,  recalled 
something  to  Lilly  connected  with  chilliness,  warm  rolls, 
autumnal  glow,  and  Sunday  chimes. 

She  cried  aloud.    Now  she  remembered. 

Fritz  Redlich !  Yes,  it  was  Fritz  Redlich.  No  doubt  of 
it.  Her  girlhood  love!  Her  girlhood  love!  Her  great 
iwarrior  in  life's  battles !    Her  St.  Joseph's  proteg6 ! 

Oh,  God,  her  St.  Joseph!  And  the  revolver!  And  the 
potato  soup  with  sliced  sausage !  And  the  three  graves  at 
Ottensen ! 

'  *  Mr.  Redlich !    Mr.  Redlich ! ' ' 

Trembling,  laughing,  she  stood  behind  him  and  stretched 
out  both  hands. 

He  dropped  his  goggles  and  blinking  his  weak  eyes,  sus- 


436  The  Song  of  Songs 

piciously  scrutinised  the  tall,  elegant  lady  from  behind 
whose  lace  veil  two  great,  tear-filled  eyes  were  shining  a 
blissful  greeting.  Then  he  awkwardly  pulled  at  the  brim 
of  his  hat. 

**]VPr.  Redlich— I'm  Lilly — Lilly  Czepanek.  Don't  you 
remember  me  any  more?" 

Yes,  now  he  remembered. 

'^Certainly,''  he  said,  ''why  shouldn't  I?" 

As  he  spoke  he  gave  a  furtive  jerk  at  his  waistcoat,  as  if 
that  were  the  readiest  way  of  improving  the  poverty  of  his 
appearance. 

**Dear  me,  Mr.  Redlich!  We  haven't  seen  each  other 
for  an  eternity.  I  think  it  must  be  seven  or  eight  years. 
No,  not  quite.  But  it  seems  much  longer.  Everything's 
gone  well  with  you  in  the  meantime,  hasn't  it?  And  I 
suppose  you're  dreadfully  busy.  But  if  you're  not,  we 
might  spend  a  little  time  together  now. ' ' 

He  really  was  quite  busy,  but  if  she  so  desired,  they 
might  remain  together  a  while. 

**How  would  it  be  if  we  went  to  a  restaurant  and  took 
a  glass  of  beer?"  she  suggested,  still  between  laughter  and 
tears.  **Well,  well,  Mr.  Redlich,  who'd  have  thought  it 
possible?" 

He  was  decidedly  opposed  to  taking  a  glass  of  beer. 

*' Restaurants  are  always  so  stuffy  and  full  of  people, 
and  the  beer  here  is  so  wretched — unfit  to  drink." 

**The  poor  fellow  has  no  money  to  pay  for  it,"  Lilly 
thought,  and  proposed  sitting  on  a  bench  instead.  It  made 
no  difference,  just  so  they  were  together. 

** That's  worth  considering,"  he  said,  *' although — "  He 
looked  about  warily  on  all  sides  to  see  if  anyone  was  scan- 
dalised at  the  ill-matched  couple. 

They   turned   into   the   quieter   Weinbersgsweg.     Lilly, 


Tlie  Song  of  Songs  437 

looking  at  him  sidewise  with  pride  and  emotion,  as  if  she 
had  created  him  out  of  nothingness,  kept  murmuring : 

**Is  it  possible?     Is  it  possible?" 

In  a  dark  spot  near  a  church  they  found  a  pleasant 
bench  overhung  with  lilac  buds  which  a  love  couple  had 
just  vacated. 

'*Well,  now  tell  me  all  about  yourself,  Mr.  Kedlich. 
My,  the  things  we  have  to  say  to  each  other!*' 

*' There  is  a  good  deal  to  tell,'*  he  replied,  hesitating, 
'*but  perhaps  my  lady  will  begin.'' 

*'0h,  pshaw,  I  haven't  been  a  *my  lady'  for  a  long 
time,"  cried  Lilly,  blushing  consciously. 

**Yes,  to  be  sure — I  heard  something  of  the  sort,"  he 
replied. 

Lilly  felt  there  was  a  note  of  blame  in  his  tone,  as  if  his 
susceptibilities  had  been  offended. 

"But  I'm  not  in  the  least  sorry,"  she  hastened  to  add. 
"All  in  all  I  lead  a  much  freer  and  pleasanter  life.  And 
I  haven't  the  slightest  cares.  I  have  a  charming  little 
home.  In  fact,  I'm  in  the  best  of  circumstances.  And 
I  'd  be  ever  so  happy  if  you  were  to  come  and  see  for  your- 
self. I'm  always  at  home  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  And 
I'd  like  you  to  dine  with  me  some  time." 

"Oh,"  he  said,  obviously  moved  by  the  pleasant  pros- 
pect. 

She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  at  having  steered  so  smoothly 
past  the  rocks  of  her  autobiography. 

And  he  asked  no  questions.  On  the  other  hand  he 
seemed  as  little  disposed  to  be  communicative  in  regard 
to  his  own  situation  past  or  present. 

"Life  has  a  sunny  and  a  shady  side,"  he  said,  "and 
he  who  sits  on  the  shady  side  would  do  well  to  reflect 
whether  or  not  he  should  speak  much  of  it." 


438  The  Song  of  Songs 

"But  you  can  trust  an  old  friend  like  me,"  cried  Lilly. 
** Imagine  we're  sitting  here  on  our  porch  in  Junker- 
strasse.  Do  you  recollect?  That  evening  we  spoke  to 
each  other  the  first  time  was  an  evening  just  like  this,  in 
May." 

**rt  was  warmer,"  he  rejoined  quickly,  and  drew  his 
coat  together  at  his  neck. 

**Are  you  chilly?"  she  asked,  laughing,  because  she  was 
aglow. 

*'I  didn't  bring — "  he  paused  an  instant — **I  didn't 
bring  my  spring  overcoat  along  to-night."   . 

**Then  we'd  better  get  up,"  she  said,  becoming  medi- 
tative. **We  can  tell  each  other  all  we  have  to  say  just 
as  well  walking  as  sitting." 

So  they  strolled  about  the  dark  church  a  number  of 
times,  but  no  autobiographical  narrative  resulted.  She 
evaded  and  he  evaded,  and  when  forced  to  speak,  they 
regaled  each  other  with  generalities. 

Lilly  praised  her  happy  lot  in  life,  and  he  sighed  re- 
peatedly. 

**Yes,  it's  hard,  very  hard!" 

Exactly  as  once  during  examinations.  The  rhythm  of 
it  still  sounded  in  her  ears,  as  if  she  had  heard  it  the  day 
before. 

'*How  are  your  father  and  mother?"  she  asked  to 
change  the  subject. 

His  father  had  died  two  years  before  after  a  short  sick- 
ness, and  his  mother  still  sewed  neckties. 

He  adjusted  something  invisible  under  his  raised  coat 
collar,  probably  a  gayly  patterned  testimony  of  maternal 
skill  and  goodness. 

After  Lilly  had  expressed  her  sympathy  she  ventured 
with  throbbing  heart  to  inquire  after  Mrs.  Asmussen  and 
her  daughters. 


The  Song  of  Songs  439 

Mr.  Redlich  smacked  his  lips  audibly. 

**Very  unpleasant  neighbours.  The  elder  girl  married  a 
paymaster,  who  will  probably  be  dismissed  soon  on  ac- 
count of  his  irregularities.  The  younger  has  charge  of 
the  library,  the  mother  is  completely  in  the  clutches  of 
drink." 

He  spoke  with  the  same  offended  air  as  when  Lilly  had 
referred  to  her  divorce. 

**He  must  be  extremely  moral  still!"  she  thought,  with 
a  sense  of  her  own  guilt  and  unworthiness. 

But  he  was  unhappy.     That  was  certain. 

And  poor,  very  poor.  Poorer  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  her  life.  Perhaps  he  was  suffering  the  pangs  of  hun- 
ger while  he  walked  at  her  side  shivering  in  his  thin, 
shabby  jacket. 

**How  would  it  be,  Mr.  Redlich,  provided  your  business 
permits  you  to,  if  you  were  to  come  to  dinner  to-mor- 
row?" 

His  business,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  made  it  practically 
impossible  for  him  to  get  off  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
and  he  hadn't  a  moment's  time  for  changing  his  clothes; 
but  if  she  would  receive  him  in  the  suit  he  was  wearing — " 

**0h  of  course,"  she  laughed.  **I11  even  serve  you  with 
your  mother's  potato  soup." 

With  that  she  pressed  both  his  hands  and  slipped  into 
a  street  car. 

Oh,  what  a  piece  of  good  fortune ! 

Now  she  had  the  thing  she  had  so  long  been  seeking. 
Some  one  whom  she  could  care  for  and  pet  and  spoil; 
some  one  to  whom  she  meant  more  than  a  toy  or  a  show 
piece,  who  needed  her  as  he  needed  bread  and  air,  who 
languished  for  a  gentle  hand  to  lead  him  back  to  hope 
and  joy. 

Some  one  all  to  herself,  all  to  herself  I 


440  The  Song  of  Songs 

Out  of  the  grave  of  her  youth  he  had  risen  exactly  as 
she  had  dreamed  in  her  dreams. 

Life  would  again  become  rich — and  happy — and  full  of 
secrets,  tiny,  gay,  absolutely  innocent  secrets. 

That  night  she  slept  little,  wakeful  as  a  child  the  night 
before  Christmas. 

The  next  morning,  to  the  vast  astonishment  of  the  maid, 
a  buxom  wench  from  the  country,  who  had  rapidly  fallen 
into  city  ways,  Lilly  rose  early — the  maid  knew  her  to  be 
a  bit  lazy — and  went  off  to  market. 

**A  friend  is  coming  to  dinner,"  Lilly  laughingly  ex- 
plained. 

She  had  to  buy  everything  herself,  the  meat,  the  rad- 
ishes, and  above  all  the  sausage  that  had  once  been  the 
pride  of  his  mother's  potato  soup. 

She  even  attended  to  the  cooking  herself. 

She  set  the  table  and  removed  the  palm  from  beside  the 
aquarium  to  have  something  green  in  the  dining-room  in 
place  of  flowers,  which  she  had  forgotten  to  buy. 

He  was  the  first  dinner  guest  she  had  had  for  two  and 
a  half  years,  and  such  a  dear  one — the  dearest,  perhaps, 
that  life  could  present  her  with. 

At  half  past  twelve  the  maid,  turning  up  her  nose,  an- 
nounced a  young  fellow  who  insisted  upon  speaking  to 
the  lady. 

^*Why,  that's  he!"  cried  Lilly. 

**He  doesn't  look  it,"  observed  the  maid  with  a  haughty 
upward  inflection  in  her  voice.  Shrugging  her  shoulders 
she  dawdled  behind  her  mistress,  who  ran  to  meet  the 
guest. 

At  first  he  shyly  hesitated  to  step  into  the  lighter  part 
of  the  room,  and  hugged  the  door  post  and  pulled  at  his 
suit,  which  really  looked  dreadfully  frayed,  even  more  so 
than  the  night  before. 


The  Song  of  Songs  441 

His  inflamed  eyes,  two  red  rifts,  blinking  behind  his 
round  glasses,  gave  him  a  sheepish,  groping,  helpless  ap- 
pearance. The  bold  thinker  ^s  forehead  had  acquired  an 
unpleasant  backward  slope  because  the  genius  lock  no 
longer  fell  over  it.  And  the  triumphant  blond  mane  had 
turned  into  a  strawy,  matted  mass,  apparently  untouched 
by  a  comb  this  many  a  day. 

He  was  unable  to  say  much. 

He  swallowed  the  potato  soup  with  tremulous  devout- 
ness,  leaving  the  slices  of  sausage  for  the  last.  When  his 
plate  was  quite  dry  he  spitted  them  on  his  fork  one  at  a 
time,  and  on  conveying  each  bit  to  his  mouth  cast  sus- 
picious glances  to  right  and  left  as  if  somebody  were  stand- 
ing nearby  to  snatch  it  away. 

The  roast  he  received  with  greater  composure.  He 
heaped  his  plate  high  without  paying  the  least  attention 
to  the  maid,  who  grinned  villainously. 

He  drank  Richard's  good  claret  in  long  draughts.  A 
mottled  red  flecked  his  cheeks;  he  laughed  and  felt  he 
was  himself  again. 

At  first  Lilly  had  been  somewhat  depressed;  but  as  he 
gradually  thawed  out,  she  began  to  hope  he  might  be  made 
to  pass  muster  after  all. 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  now  at  last  an 
opportunity  presented  itself  for  the  genuine  salvation  of 
a  human  being,  not  merely  a  game  of  enamoured  self-de- 
ception as  with  Walter  von  Prell. 

The  thought  filled  her  with  blissful,  confident  hope. 

After  the  meal  they  went  into  the  drawing-room.  With 
masterful  ease  of  manner  born  of  the  unwonted  drink,  he 
promptly  seated  himself  in  the  rocking  chair  and  tickled 
the  snarling  monkey. 

He  sat  leaning  back  in  the  chair  with  his  legs  stretched 
out.    The  fringed  ends  of  his  trousers  slipped  into  the 


442  The  Song  of  Songs 

expanded  tops  of  his  boots,  exposing  the  tattered  rubber 
drawing  loops. 

It  was  an  appalling  sight. 

**I'll  have  to  do  something/*  thought  Lilly,  and  cogi- 
tated on  the  best  way  to  help  him. 

As  for  Mr.  Kedlich,  now  that  his  spirits  were  in  tur- 
moil, he  turned  his  innermost  being  outward  and  aired 
his  views  of  life. 

Oh,  what  a  display  of  gall  and  poison! 

He  had  become  so  embittered  by  long  privation  and 
eternal  envy  of  those  who  seemed  gay,  happy,  and  favoured 
by  fortune,  that  no  values,  no  attainments,  no  prosperous 
undertakings  could  withstand  his  onslaught.  Everybody 
was  hollow,  corrupt  and  hypocritical.  Everything  de- 
pended on  birth,  cliqueism,  "pull.''  Success,  no  matter 
in  what  line,  was  an  ineradicable  stain. 

But  this  time  also  he  said  little  of  his  personal  experi- 
ences.  Lilly  could  not  even  discover  if  he  was  still  a  stu- 
dent. He  acknowledged  only  one  thing,  with  bitter  resent- 
ment, that  his  deepest  feelings  had  been  badly  damaged  ia 
his  constant  struggle  for  existence. 

While  he  spoke  and  laughed  spasmodically,  two  lugubri- 
ous, sarcastic  folds  cut  a  deep  semicircle  in  each  emaci- 
ated cheek.  Lilly  dimly  recalled  that  a  tendency  to  those 
folds  had  existed  in  the  times  long  ago. 

**0h,  you  poor,  poor  fellow!"  she  thought,  and  vowed 
soon  to  make  a  man  of  him  again,  both  outwardly  and  in- 
wardly. 

But  his  visit  left  her  feeling  sad  and  depressed. 

''After  all— am  I  better  off?"  she  thought.  ''Where  is 
the  confidence  in  life  I  used  to  have?  Where  is  my  joy 
of  life  ?    Where  is  my  Song  of  Songs  ?  " 

The  next  afternoon,  before  Richard  came,  she  devised 


The  Song  of  Songs  443 

a  plan  by  which  she  could  give  Fritz  Redlich  new  clothes 
without  damage  to  Richard's  purse  or  Fritz  Redlich's 
feelings. 

** Think  of  it,"  she  said  to  Richard  while  they  were 
drinking  tea  together,  ''two  great  events  occurred  to  me 
yesterday,  one  a  very  happy  one,  the  other  very  sad.  The 
first  is,  I  met  a  dear  old  friend  I  used  to  know  when  I  was 
a  girl.  Before  he  went  to  the  university  he  lived  on  the 
same  floor  as  I  did.  And  this  morning  a  poor  student  was 
here.  He  looked  simply  wretched,  and  he  asked  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  In  case  he  comes  again,  have  you  any  old 
clothes  to  give  him?  No  matter  what.  He  needs  every- 
thing." 

**With  pleasure,"  said  Richard.  *'I  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  all  the  stuff  I  have  at  any  rate." 

But  the  other  one,  the  friend  of  her  girlhood,  made 
Richard  thoughtful. 

''What's  he  like?"  he  asked. 

In  her  endeavour  to  keep  the  two  mythical  beings  quit© 
distinct,  she  began  to  sing  the  ' '  other  one 's ' '  praises  much 
too  emphatically.  He  was  a  highly  endowed  and  quite 
prominent  scholar,  who  had  just  completed  his  university 
course,  and  now  stood  at  the  entrance  to  a  brilliant  career 
— a  paragon  of  knowledge  and  intellect  and  heaven  knows 
what  else. 

What  was  his  specialty? 

She  really  did  not  know.  Something  awfully  erudite, 
at  any  rate.  And  he  would  surely  choose  an  academic  ca- 
reer.   Nothing  else  was  worth  while  for  him. 

Lilly  talked  herself  into  such  a  tangle  of  lies  that  finally 
she  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  saying. 

Richard,  who  in  the  co'nsciousness  of  his  intellectual 
poverty,  felt  a  tremendous  respect  for  a  great  mind,  grew 
red  in  the  facfe  and  looked  uneasy  and  nettled. 


444  The  Song  of  Songs 

**I  suppose  he'll  be  wanting  to  visit  you?''  he  asked. 

** Certainly,"  she  replied,  rejoiced  at  having  steered  in 
this  direction  so  smoothly. 

"Congratulate  you  on  your  affinity,"  he  said  with  a 
mocking  bow,  and  added,  laughing:  "Provided  I  needn't 
meet  him." 

Perfect. 

The  next  morning  a  man  employed  in  the  factory 
brought  Lilly  a  huge  bundle  from  Mr.  Dehnicke.  It  con- 
tained a  fine  summer  suit  in  the  latest  style  looking  almost 
new ;  shirts,  a  pair  of  boots,  and  blue,  silky  underwear. 

Kichard  seemed  to  want  to  prove  his  magnanimity  in  a 
particularly  striking  way,  because  prodigality  toward  the 
poor  was  not  in  his  line. 

The  next  difficulty  was  to  turn  the  garments  over  to 
Fritz  Redlich  without  offending  him  and  having  him  re- 
fuse them. 

When  he  visited  her  three  days  later  she  took  occasion, 
after  dinner,  to  show  him  through  the  rooms.  He  must 
see  how  she  lived,  she  said. 

When  she  came  to  the  door  of  a  lumber  room  she  opened 
it  quite  naturally  as  she  had  the  others.  There  among 
discarded  waists,  broken  vases,  withered  plants,  and  sim- 
ilar litter,  hung  the  suit. 

"I  brought  it  along  by  mistake,  and  some  more  men's 
clothes,  when  I  left  the  general's  house,"  she  explained. 
"It's  getting  worn  just  hanging  here." 

Mr.  Redlich 's  small,  sickly  eyes  became  bright  and 
greedy. 

Perhaps  he  knew  some  one  who  could  make  use  of  them  ? 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  he  replied  disdainfully,  though 
unable  to  withhold  a  glance  at  his  own  trousers. 

Perhaps  he  had  met  some  one  to  whom  he  would  be 
doing  a  favour  if  he  gave  him  the  suit  ? 


The  Song  of  Songs  445 

No,  he  could  think  of  no  one. 

Despite  her  fear  of  hurting  him,  Lilly  said  straight  out, 
she  didn't  believe  she  was  mistaken — a  remarkable  simi- 
larity of  figure — though  the  general  had  measured  a  bit 
more  about  the  waist — and  if  he  wanted  to  entrust  the 
suit  to  an  inexpensive  tailor — 

The  suggestion  angered  him.  Did  she  think  he  was  a 
charity  case  ?  Nobody  could  class  him  so  low  as  that.  He 
was  a  man  of  firm  principles,  and  his  principles  would 
never  permit  him  to  wear  a  person's  cast-off  clothes. 

With  a  sigh  Lilly  desisted  from  her  project. 

But  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  take  leave.  He 
sat  in  the  drawing-room  an  interminable  time.  Finally 
she  had  to  hint  to  him  to  go,  because  Richard  might  enter 
any  moment. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  outside  her  door,  he  turned 
and  asked,  stuttering,  whether  the  next  time  he  might 
come  in  the  evening. 

*' Haven't  you  leisure  any  more  in  the  middle  of  the 
day?"  she  demanded,  taken  aback.  For  Richard's  sake 
she  did  not  care  to  receive  visitors  late  in  the  day. 

No,  not  that.  So  far  as  leisure  was  concerned,  it  was — 
it  was — .  He  hung  on,  and  Lilly  listened  fearfully  for 
sounds  on  the  staircase  below. 

''Then  what  is  it?" 

*'I  should  like  to  think  the  matter  over  verv  -arefully, 
and— and — " 

''Well,  and?" 

"And  if  it's  dark,  perhaps  I  could  take  the  package 
right  along  with  me." 

With  that  he  jumped  down  the  steps. 

' '  The  poor  fellow,  how  he  must  choke  down  his  pride ! ' ' 
she  thought,  looking  after  him. 

The  same  evening  she  sent  him  all  the  clothes  by  ex- 


446  The  Song  of  Songs 

press,  and  pinned  a  letter  inside,  in  which  she  excused  her- 
self again  and  again  for  enclosing  a  twenty  mark  note,  in 
the  first  place,  for  a  hat,  in  the  second  place,  to  spare  him 
difficulties  with  the  tailor. 

When  he  reappeared  a  few  days  later,  he  was  scarcely 
recognisable.  The  suit  fitted  him  to  perfection,  and  in 
order  to  keep  the  tips  of  his  boots  from  turning  up — they 
were  too  long  for  him — he  had  stuffed  them  with  cotton 
wads. 

Even  the  maid  sent  him  friendlier  glances. 

A  pity  he  would  not  part  with  his  beard  and  the  tousled 
shock  of  hair.  But  for  that  disfigurement  you  might  even 
appear  on  the  street  with  him.  His  cheeks  had  filled  out, 
and  his  eyes  had  improved,  thanks  to  the  help  of  the 
physician  to  whom  Lilly  had  dragged  him  by  main  force; 
and  gradually  his  manners  softened  down.  He  no  longer 
gulped  his  food,  or  picked  his  teeth  with  his  finger  nails; 
and  he  learned  how  to  drink  claret. 

His  inner  being,  like  his  external  appearance,  also  began 
to  reflect  the  peaceful  comfort  of  the  hospitable  home. 
He  abused  with  discrimination,  and  sometimes  even  the 
crime  of  happiness  seemed  pardonable  in  his  eyes. 

He  displayed  delightful  tact  in  never  probing  into 
Lilly's  situation,  and  she  was  grateful  to  him. 

Although  she  avoided  questioning  him  as  to  his  own 
doings,  occasional  allusions  and  complaints  of  his  enabled 
her  to  piece  together  a  picture  of  his  unsuccessful  career. 

After  two  years  of  starvation,  he  gave  up  the  teaching 
profession,  and,  consciously  sacrificing  his  convictions, 
took  up  the  study  of  theology  in  his  native  city  for  the 
sake  of  one  or  two  scholarships. 

"After  all!''  thought  Lilly,  deeply  stirred.  She  re- 
called the  red,  sunny  morning  when  the  Sunday  chimes 
sent  up  their  greeting  from  out  of  the  green  valley. 


The  Song  of  Songs  447 

But  his  supreme  sacrifice  seemed  to  have  done  no  perma- 
nent good.  During  the  last  year  he  had  kept  himself 
alive  by  occasionally  addressing  envelopes,  and  in  other 
mysterious  ways,  concerning  which  he  was  not  explicit. 

** Nevertheless, ' '  he  said,  **I  maintained  my  dignity. 
And  even  if  I  am  poor  and  despised,  I  know  my  worth,  in- 
deed I  do.'* 

He  paced  the  room,  fiery  and  lowering.  When  he  threw 
out  his  chest  and  ran  his  hand  through  his  mane,  he  al- 
most resembled  the  young  hero  who  had  once  filled  Lilly's 
enthusiastic  fancy  with  pictures  of  inordinate  ambition. 

To  complete  her  work  and  lead  him  entirely  back  to  hap- 
piness, she  tried  to  find  out  what  lot  in  life  he  desired  for 
himself. 

He  wanted  to  go  away.  Leave  Berlin!  He  wanted  to 
feel  himself  a  man  again,  who  does  his  duty  and  knows 
where  he  belongs  and  is  permitted  to  breathe  pure  air. 

**A11  of  us  want  something  lovely  like  that,"  she  thought. 

It  would  have  to  be  a  tutorship  in  a  family,  anywhere 
in  the  country,  preferably  with  a  minister  of  whose  library 
he  could  avail  himself. 

**And  round  about  the  linden  trees  will  bloom,"  thought 
Lilly,  *'and  the  wheat  will  wave  in  the  breeze,  and  the  cat- 
tle will  wind  their  way  to  water." 

She  nearly  cried  with  envy. 

From  that  day  on  she  worked  industriously  to  satisfy 
his  heart 's  desire.  She  gave  him  money  to  insert  advertise- 
ments in  the  Kreuzzeitung ,  wrote  letters  herself  in  reply  to 
all  sorts  of  oifers,  and  asked  her  little  circle  of  friends  to 
do  what  they  could  for  him. 

All  these  transactions  had  to  be  carried  on  in  secret  to 
avoid  attracting  Richard's  attention.  Even  so  she  had 
much  to  suffer  from  him  these  days. 

He  found  her  wanting  in  attentiveness  to  him;  he  r€- 


448  The  Song  of  Songs 

buked  her  for  being  cold  and  loveless,  and  detected  a  hos- 
tile influence  in  her  every  word. 

"That's  probably  what  your  intellectual  friend  says." 
**You  should  ask  your  brilliant  scholar."  Thus  it  went 
without  cease. 

One  day  the  bomb  exploded. 

Despite  his  promise  to  have  the  maid  announce  him 
when  strangers  were  present,  Richard  stepped  into  the 
dining-room  while  Lilly  was  at  table  with  her  girlhood 
friend.  He  had  neither  rung  nor  knocked,  and  a  frown, 
of  revenge  puckered  his  brow. 

Lilly  jumped  from  her  seat,  paling. 

As  if  caught  in  guilt,  Fritz  Eedlich  also  jumped  up.  He 
stood  there  awkward  and  sheepish,  while  the  corner  of  his 
napkin  slowly  glided  from  his  buttonhole  into  his  soup 
plate. 

For  a  moment  silence  prevailed.  Nothing  but  the  tit- 
tering of  the  maid  in  the  kitchen  was  to  be  heard. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  Richard  in  the  same  threatening 
manner.  **I  merely  wanted  to  make  sure  how  you  are 
really  getting  along." 

*'Mr.  Dehnicke,  a  good  friend  of  mine — Mr.  Redlich, 
my  old  friend,"  said  Lilly. 

Now  Richard  scrutinised  his  dread  rival  more  closely — 
looked  in  amazement  and  disapproval  at  the  rank  growth 
of  his  beard  and  shaggy  mane — his  gaze  travelled  down- 
wards— and  brightened — a  nonplussed  look,  but  also  a 
joyous  look  of  recognition,  betrayed  itself  in  his  features. 
Wasn't  that  his  suit  and  his  shirt? 

His  eyes  dropped  lower  without  halting  at  the  napkin 
in  the  soup  plate. 

Weren't  those  his  trousers?  Weren't  those  his  discarded 
boots  which  the  brilliant  intellectual  scholar  was  wearing? 

**0h,  that's  it,"  he  said.    '* Nothing  more."    With  a 


The  Song  of  Songs  449 

wicked  grin  of  scorn  he  turned  to  Lilly,  who  could  scarcely 
keep  on  her  feet.  '*May  I  speak  to  you  alone  for  an  in- 
stant?'' 

**Will  you  excuse  me,  Mr.  Kedlich?"  she  said,  and  in 
her  confusion  and  from  force  of  habit,  she  opened  the 
door  to — the  bedroom,  as  if  that  were  the  prescribed  place 
for  single  ladies  to  receive  their  gentlemen  friends.  Rich- 
ard, who  was  as  accustomed  to  the  way  as  she,  followed 
her,  unconscious  of  the  exposure  of  intimacy. 

*' Listen,"  he  said  upon  shutting  the  door.  **I  was  a 
donkey  for  having  been  jealous  of  your  affinity.  But  now 
I  swear  to  you,  your  friends  may  come  and  go,  morning 
or  evening,  any  time  you  wish.  I'll  always  keep  old  suits 
on  hand  for  them.     Good-by — goosie!" 

He  left.  She  could  hear  him  laughing  even  after  the 
door  fell  shut  behind  him. 

She  was  frightfully  ashamed.  How  would  she  ever 
summon  the  courage  to  appear  before  her  girlhood  friend 
again,  before  that  moral  person  who  had  shrunk  at  the 
mere  mention  of  her  divorce? 

Then  she  realised  she  was  standing  in  the  bedroom. 

Everything  was  revealed,  all  the  disgrace  of  her  ex- 
istence, all,  all. 

No  matter  how  unworldly  he  might  be,  the  role  of  the 
man  who  had  so  suddenly  intruded  in  the  apartment  and 
as  suddenly  disappeared,  must  be  patent. 
'  A  long  time  she  hesitated,  the  knob  in  her  hand,  listen- 
ing to  what  Fritz  Redlich  was  doing.  She  feared  his  tread, 
the  clearing  of  his  throat.     His  very  silence  boded  evil. 

At  last,  trembling,  ready  to  confess  everything  amid 
tears  of  contrition,  she  stepped  into  the  dining-room. 

Lo  and  behold!  He  sat  quietly  at  his  accustomed 
place  rubbing  at  the  spot  the  wet  napkin  had  made  on 
his  waistcoat.     The  blue   goggles  lay  next   to  his  plate. 


450  The  Song  of  Songs 

and  he  blinked  at  her  amiably  with  no  air  of  constraint. 

**Has  the  gentleman  left  already?"  he  asked  innocently. 

At  that  moment  the  roast  was  brought  in,  and  he  fell  to 
with  avidity,  making  no  further  mention  of  the  interlude. 

Actually — so  pure  was  his  conscience  that  he  did  not 
detect  the  impure  even  if  thrust  under  his  very  nose. 

Oh,  how  grateful  she  was  to  him ! 

To  prove  her  gratitude  she  told  him  he  might  come 
evenings  also — Richard  permitted  it — without  waiting  to 
be  invited. 

If  she  should  happen  to  be  out,  the  maid  would  prepare 
supper  for  him,  and  see  to  it  that  he  lacked  nothing,  abso- 
lutely nothing.  And  mindful  of  the  wry  face  the  maid 
had  cut  the  first  day  he  came,  she  enjoined  her  emphat- 
ically : 

**Now  be  real  pleasant  and  friendly  to  him,  so  that  he 
always  feels  at  home  here. '  * 

The  buxom  wench  turned  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
and  said  nothing. 

Lilly  now  went  to  work  in  behalf  of  Fritz  Redlich  with 
redoubled  zeal. 

She  again  found  a  ready  assistant  in  Mrs.  Jula, 

*' Leave  the  thing  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Jula  one  day. 
'* There's  somebody  up  there  I've  known  a  long  time" 
—she  hesitated  a  bit — ''he's  all-powerful,  and  has  taken 
the  Good  Lord's  place  in  many  a  minister's  family.  If  I 
were  to  write  to  him — but,  of  course  my  name  must  be 
kept  out,  it's  still  a  red  rag  to  the  bull  up  there." 

The  next  day  Lilly  sent  her  one  of  the  advertisements 
that  Fritz  Redlich  had  inserted  in  the  paper.  Mrs.  Jula 
was  to  forward  it  to  a  certain  person,  and  the  response 
would  then  go  directly  to  Fritz  Redlich  without  the  inter- 


The  Song  of  Songs  451 

mediation  of  a  third  party.  Lilly  preferred  that  his  fu- 
ture fortune  should  appear  to  be  due  entirely  to  his  own 
efforts. 

And  behold!    Mrs.  Jula  was  successful. 

One  evening  the  next  week  Fritz  Redlich  appeared  at 
Lilly's  unexpectedly — a  frequent  occurrence  now,  whether 
she  was  at  home  or  not — and  complacently  informed  her 
his  advertisement  had  been  so  convincing  that  he  had  im- 
mediately received  an  invitation  from  a  minister  in 
Further  Pomerania  to  send  his  references  and  be  ready 
to  leave  Berlin  at  short  notice.  The  minister  seemed  to  be 
quite  keen  for  him. 

Lilly 's  heart  throbbed  with  pride.  Nothing  in  the  world 
could  have  induced  her  to  betray  that  she  was  at  the  bottom 
of  his  good  luck. 

His  happiness  was  her  work!  He  himself,  therefore, 
was  her  possession,  more  absolutely  her  possession  than 
anything  in  the  world. 

During  the  meal  an  exalted,  blissful  silence  prevailed. 
Since  he  had  not  announced  his  coming,  there  was  no 
potato  soup,  the  usual  first  course. 

She  excused  herself  for  the  omission,  and  added  with 
a  little  pang: 

**At  any  rate  you  won't  take  many  more  meals  with 
me. 

"Probably,"  he  said  with  an  embarrassed  glance  at  the 
maid,  whose  presence  evidently  troubled  him.  Had  she 
not  been  there,  he  would  very  likely  have  given  warmer 
expression  to  his  feelings. 

After  the  meal  they  seated  themselves  in  the  drawing- 
room. 

It  was  July,  and  a  hot  breeze  blew  through  the  open 
windows.     But  the  naked  little  monkey,  whose  ca^e  stood 


452  The  Song  of  Songs 

next  to  the  aquarium,  shivered  even  at  this  season,  and 
had  to  be  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  an  attention  to  which  he  sub- 
mitted, snarling  all  the  while. 

The  canary  sang  its  evening  song,  and  twilight  fell. 
Fritz  Kedlich  sat  in  the  rocking  chair,  in  which  he  liked 
to  lounge  after  a  meal.     Lilly  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  agitatedly. 

''Now  I'll  be  lonely  again,"  she  thought,  ''and  I'll  fling 
myself  about  as  before." 

Yet,  what  a  piece  of  good  fortune  it  had  been.  What 
good  fortune! 

She  told  him  so  for  about  the  hundredth  time. 

"Yes,"  he  rejoined,  "what  I  managed  to  achieve  here 
through  my  struggles  is  really  a  piece  of  good  fortune." 
He  emphasised  "my  struggles."  "When  I  think  what 
dreadful  years  those  were,  how  often  I  had  to  do  violence 
to  my  real  character,  how  often  my  principles  were  endan- 
gered. And  not  only  that,"  he  added  after  a  melancholy 
pause,  "if  one  considers  the  doubtful,  impure  situations 
into  which  life  throws  one,  it  is  really  no  wonder  that  one 
is  infected  with  the  prevailing  spirit  and  commits  acts  one 
would  rather  have  left  undone.  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Czepanek, 
it's  hard,  very  hard." 

"Oh,  don't  always  call  me  Mrs.  Czepanek.  Say  Lilly 
right  straight  out.     We're  old  friends." 

"I  will  gladly  if  you  wish  it." 

Lilly  felt  a  tenderness  for  him  such  as  she  had  not  ex- 
perienced since  her  days  in  the  library.  Yet  it  was  differ- 
ent from  then.  It  was  a  motherly,  sisterly  tenderness. 
No,  not  exactly  that  either.  It  was  a  bit  of  everything,  and 
something  in  addition,  which  drew  nearer  and  nearer  hesi- 
tatingly, like  a  light  in  the  distance. 

"Tell  me  something,  Fritz,"  she  said,  standing  in  front 
of  him.     "Have  you  ever  been  in  love?" 


The  Song  of  Songs  453 

He  started  as  if  he  had  been  hit. 

*  *  In  love  1    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

**Well — what  do  you  think — I  mean?''  she  laughed, 
scratching  the  arm  of  the  rocking  chair  with  her  thumb 
nail. 

He  seemed  to  breathe  more  easily. 

**For  that  which  one  calls  real  love  I've  never  had  the 
time  or  the  desire." 

**And  hasn't  any  woman  ever  loved  you?" 

**Do  I  look  as  if  a  woman  could  love  me?"  he  rejoined, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

His  embittered  dejection  annoyed  her. 

**Well,  well,"  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  to  comfort 
him  with  a  little  teasing. 

He  started  again,  as  if  the  mere  thought  of  such  a  possi- 
bility filled  him  with  dread. 

Poor  fellow!  A  girl's  eyes  had  never  sought  his  in  a 
glow,  a  woman's  arm  had  never  clasped  his  neck  in  bliss. 
He  had  been  denied  the  supreme  delight  that  makes  life 
worth  the  while  both  for  man  and  woman. 

An  avowal  burnt  on  her  lips  drifting  down  from  timea 
long,  long  ago,  which  would  prove  to  him  how  mistaken 
he  was. 

She  choked  it  down. 

Not  to-day.  Later.  Perhaps  when  he  came  to  say  good- 
by  before  leaving  Berlin. 

Darkness  fell,  and  the  light  of  the  street  lamps  played 
on  the  walls  and  ceiling.  The  monkey  had  rolled  him- 
self into  a  ball  in  his  cloak,  and  the  little  canary  also 
slept. 

Lilly  still  paced  to  and  fro,  gently  grazing  his  elbow  each 
time  she  passed  the  rocking  chair. 

She  halted  in  front  of  him  again. 

There  he  sat,  he  whom  she  had  once  loved  so  hotly,  and 


454  The  Song  of  Songs 

suspected  nothing.  Suspected  nothing  of  what  women's 
arms  could  bestow. 

Poor,  poor  fellow ! 

*'You  must  really  have  that  shock  of  hair  of  yours 
trimmed,"  she  said  with  a  constrained  laugh,  **then  you'll 
succeed  better  with  the  women. ' ' 

With  difficulty,  as  if  she  were  drawing  up  a  hundred 
pound  weight,  Lilly  raised  her  left  hand,  and  laid  it  on  his 
hard,  crisp  hair,  which  sank  under  the  light  touch  like  a 
cushion. 

He  stopped  rocking  abruptly,  looked  about  on  all  sides 
uneasily,  and  coughed  a  little.  , 

*'Why,  yes,"  he  said  after  a  pause.  ** That's  good  ad- 
vice. If  I  want  to  make  a  pleasant  impression  in  my  new 
position — " 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  to  the  window,  causing  her  hand 
to  slip  down  on  his  neck. 

Lilly  swallowed  a  sigh,  and  he  jumped  up  to  take  leave. 

She  was  too  embarrassed  to  invite  him  to  remain. 

The  maid  was  already  standing  outside  with  a  lamp  to 
light  his  way  down  the  stairs. 

''Day  after  to-morrow!"  Lilly  called  to  him  from  the 
window. 

He  nodded  up  his  thanks,  and  disappeared  in  the  dark. 

Poor,  poor  fellow!  Engulfed  in  bitterness  and  despon- 
dency, he  walked  away  little  divining  what  happy  gardens 
blossomed  about  him. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  Lilly  was  absorbed  in  anxious, 
confused  thoughts. 

'  *  I  ought  not  to  have  laid  my  hand  on  his  head, ' '  she  said 
to  herself. 

Nevertheless  she  was  glad  she  had. 

The  next  morning  a  postal  card  came  from  Mrs.  Jula 


The  Song  of  Songs  455 

saying  she  had  gotten  word  from  "up  there.''  Everything 
was  proceeding  smoothly.  Lilly's  protege  was  to  enter 
his  position  immediately.  Money  for  his  travelling  ex- 
penses had  already  been  forwarded  to  him. 

Lilly  wept  tears  of  joy. 

Her  work  was  complete.  Her  girlhood  friend  had  been 
saved  and  won  back  to  life.  With  work  and  effort,  with 
deception  and  fear  she  had  made  him  her  own.  ' 

And  when  he  came  the  next  evening,  as  had  been  ar- 
ranged, she  would  tell  him  all:  that  about  her  loving  him 
when  she  was  a  girl — everything. 

And  once  again — ^before  parting — she  would  lay  her 
hand  on  his  mass  of  hair.     Then  what  would  might  follow. 

The  next  evening  she  exercised  greater  care  in  dressing 
than  was  her  wont  when  she  and  Fritz  Redlich  were  to- 
gether. She  herself  had  cooked  his  potato  soup  and  cut 
the  right  amount  of  beefsteak  for  him — he  no  longer  de- 
voured such  huge  portions.  All  the  maid  had  to  do  was 
put  it  in  the  saucepan. 

The  clock  struck  eight.     He  had  not  come. 

*'He's  busy  packing,"  she  comforted  herself. 

The  clock  struck  ten.  Hopeless.  He  was  not  coming. 
But  perhaps  he  was  standing  on  the  street  outside  the 
locked  door  clapping  the  way  Richard  sometimes  did, 

Lilly  remained  leaning  out  of  the  window  until  the 
clock  struck  eleven. 

Then  she  went  to  bed  sad  and  weary. 

The  next  morning  she  received  the  following  letter : 

**My  dear  Mrs.  Czepanek: — 

After  I  have  succeeded  through  my  own  efforts  in 
establishing  a  livelihood  for  myself,  I  deem  it  my  duty  to 
terminate  my  former  life,  which,  as  I  pointed  out  to  you 
several  times,  too  frequently  forced  me  into  circumstances 


456  The  Song  of  Songs 

conflicting  with  my  principles.  My  firm  cnaracter  was 
led  into  temptations  from  which,  I  will  candidly  confess, 
it  did  not  always  emerge  intact. 

I  am  well  aware  that  I  am  under  great  obligations  to 
you,  and  I  hereby  duly  express  my  thanks.  Nobody  shall 
say  Fritz  Redlich  is  an  ingrate. 

I  have  kept  an  accurate  account  of  the  cash  that  cir- 
cumstances compelled  me  to  accept  from  you.  I  will  re- 
turn it,  also  the  suit  I  am  wearing,  as  soon  as  my  salary 
will  enable  me  to.  But  had  you  really  respected  me,  you 
would  have  spared  me  that  humiliating  encounter  with  the 
gentleman  to  whom  the  garment  in  question  evidently  once 
belonged. 

I  may  not  conclude  without  making  the  following  re- 
marks: improve  your  ways,  Mrs.  Czepanek.  They  are  a 
slap  in  the  face  of  all  the  laws  of  morality.  I  believe,  in 
giving  you  this  advice,  I  prove  myself  to  be  a  truer  friend 
than  if  I  had  continued  to  let  you  think  me  a  dunce. 

I  remain  your  ever  grateful 

Fritz  Redlich, 
cand.  phil.  ettheol." 

Lilly  suffered  long  and  deeply  from  this  experience. 

It  was  not  until  some  months  later,  when  the  maid  gave 
notice  because  the  solitary  evenings  with  the  very  moral 
young  student  had  not  remained  without  consequences,  that 
Lilly  could  get  herself  to  see  that  the  incident  had  its  hu- 
morous aspect. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Early  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  Richard  went  to 
Ostend  to  have  a  married  man^s  vacation,  while  Lilly 
cheaply  and  innocently  passed  for  a  widow  of  rank  in  a 
small  resort  on  the  Baltic  sea. 

She  accepted  the  homage  of  several  old  maids,  allowed 
a  young  missionary  to  dedicate  a  volume  of  verse  to  her, 
and  respectfully  declined  the  honourable  proposal  of  a 
widower,  the  city  treasurer  of  Pirna.  Those  were  six 
weeks  to  her  liking. 

The  following  winter  went  in  much  the  same  way  as 
the  preceding. 

At  Christmas  Richard  presented  her  with  a  hired  car- 
riage, the  door  of  which,  of  course,  was  decorated  with  the 
seven-pointed  coronet.  He  had  engaged  it  in  order  to 
avoid  disagreeable  encounters  with  his  mother,  who  spoke 
of  Lilly  with  increasing  severity,  and  had  frequently  de- 
manded the  equipage  when  he  was  out  driving  with  his 
mistress. 

He  also  gave  Lilly  a  sable  cloak,  one  of  the  new-fashioned 
sort,  with  countless  tails,  which  cost  a  small  fortune. 

Despite  Richard's  reproaches  she  made  little  use  of 
either.  That  feeling  of  dread,  never  to  be  stilled,  told  her 
that  such  false  display  would  drive  her  ever  on  into  the 
world  which  she  wanted  to  flee. 

And  while  Richard  endeavoured  with  dogged  greed  to 
drain  the  cup  of  worldly  delights  to  th(^  very  dregs,  Lilly's 
desires  went  out  more  and  more  to  middle-class  respecta- 
bility.   She  clung  to  it  as  the  last  hope,  which  enabled  her 

457 


.458  The  Song  of  Songs 

to  drag  through  her  existence,  the  complete  poverty  of 
which  tormented  her  increasingly  there  amid  the  lights  and 
music  and  laughter. 

The  only  one  in  her  circle  v/ho  now  and  then  stimulated 
her  intellectually  was  Mrs.  Jula.  Mrs.  Jula  could  tell 
stories,  and  she  showed  familiarity  with  other  worlds,  her 
experiences  in  which  she  elaborated  with  a  lively  fancy. 

But  for  some  time  a  veil  of  impenetrable  mysteries  had 
shrouded  that  foolish  curly  head  of  hers.  The  erotic  verses 
she  was  wont  to  publish  disappeared  from  the  new-school 
magazines,  and  her  nymphomaniac  little  tales  were  nowhere 
to  be  found. 

When  her  friends  asked  her  teasingly:  **  What's  become 
of  your  art?"  she  would  laugh  coyly,  like  a  bride,  and 
reply:    **Wait,  you'll  see." 

Lilly  would  now  have  liked  to  become  more  intimate  with 
Mrs.  Jula,  having  long  ceased  to  consider  herself  morally 
superior;  but  she  could  not  succeed  in  approaching  her, 
and  so  she  locked  her  distress  and  her  longing  in  her  own 
soul,  and  went  her  way  thirsting. 

It  happened  on  the  nineteenth  of  March.  Lilly  never 
forgot  the  date,  because  it  was  St.  Joseph's  day. 

A  day  of  rough  spring  winds  and  reddish  sunshine. 

One  of  those  days  on  which  the  world's  orchestra  seems 
to  tune  its  instruments  before  thrilling  our  senses  again 
with  its  great  spring  symphony. 

The  grass  on  the  canal  embankments  was  already  turn- 
ing green,  the  ducks  going  in  pairs  rocked  themselves  on 
the  wavelets,  and  great  foamy  shimmering  slabs  of  melting 
ice  floated  to  annihilation. 

Lilly,  overwrought  by  her  painful,  confused  longings, 
could  not  endure  remaining  indoors.  She  wanted  to  run, 
cry  aloud,  climb  over  fences,  throw  herself  on  the  bare 


'"     The  Song  of  Songs  459 

earth~no  matter  what — but  get  away  for  a  few  hours 
from  her  prison,  which  smelled  of  powder  and  perfumes 
and  was  burdened  by  the  spirit  of  idleness. 

She  dressed  herself  for  going  out,  gave  a  few  directions 
to  the  maid — ^this  time  an  elderly,  patronising  person,  thor- 
oughly accustomed  to  service  with  single  ladies — and  with- 
out troubling  to  order  her  carriage,  took  the  electric  tram 
to  the  Grunewald. 

At  the  fencing  where  the  spick-and-span  houses  of  the 
rich  come  to  an  end,  and  the  abused  woods  rise  high  above 
the  restraining  yoke  of  man,  Lilly  got  out  and  walked  rap- 
idly without  caring  in  what  direction. 

A  few  automobiles  whizzed  past.  Some  gentlemen  in 
one  of  them  laughed  and  beckoned  to  her,  perhaps  merely 
in  sport;  perhaps  they  actually  recognised  her.  In  either 
case  it  was  best  to  leave  the  public  road.  So  she  turned 
into  the  path  leading  along  the  lake  to  the  old  Jagdschloss. 

Here  nobody  was  to  be  seen  far  or  near. 

The  cold  March  wind  swept  across  the  milky  water  and 
whirled  in  the  reeds,  causing  the  dry  stalks  to  rattle  and 
crackle.  Ice  still  glittered  near  the  edge,  though  the  crus; 
was  so  thin  and  sieve-like  that  each  little  wave  striving  foi 
the  shore  sent  tiny  springs  shooting  up  through  the  holes. 

Here  and  there  from  a  pine  bough  came  a  bird's  song, 
sorry  enough  to  extinguish  timid  spring  hopes. 

**In  the  city  streets  it  looks  more  like  spring  than  here,'* 
thought  Lilly. 

But  the  freshness  of  the  wind  redolent  of  moss  and  pine 
needles  did  her  good.  She  battled  against  its  might,  tak- 
ing long  strides.  Her  cheeks  tingled,  her  frozen  blood 
thawed,  and  sent  fresh  life  pulsating  through  her  fallow 
tody. 

And  her  fallow  soul. 

,Suddenly  she  shook  with  a  fit  of  laughter.    It  was  all 


460  The  Song  of  Songs 

nonsense,  her  regret  and  her  yearning,  Richard's  snobbish 
ambition,  his  mother's  eternal  marriage  schemes.  Even 
the  respectability  she  desired  was  utterly  vapid. 

"What  would  she  do  with  it?  She,  Lilly  the  free,  the 
wild,  the  ruined?  There  was  something  else,  something 
higher.  There  must  be.  Not  in  Dr.  Salmoni  's  sense.  No, 
oh,  no.  Something  as  hard  and  pure  and  life-bringing  as 
this  March  wind  sweeping  through  her  limbs. 

Above  her  in  a  pine  tree  she  heard  a  chipping  sound 
which  she  had  learned  to  recognise  at  Lischnitz.  It  was  a 
call  both  of  fear  and  invitation,  which  ended  in  a  snappy 
*'Tshek-tshek.'' 

Lilly  stood  still,  looked  up,  and  whistled. 

A  pair  of  squirrels  had  been  chasing  about  the  trunk  in 
corkscrew  lines,  and  now,  at  her  appearance,  stood  stock 
still  in  fright. 

*  *  Tshek-tshek, ' '  Lilly  clucked  to  incite  the  little  red- 
coats to  play.  She  did  not  succeed,  and  picked  up  a  pebble 
from  the  ground. 

Just  as  she  was  about  to  throw  it,  she  saw,  behind  a 
tree  trunk,  two  eyes  fastened  on  her,  large,  questioning 
astonished  eyes,  which  narrowed  under  her  gaze,  and  dark- 
ened, and  tried  to  turn  away,  but  could  not.  She  knew 
those  eyes.     She  had  looked  into  them  long,  long,  long  ago. 

But,  no,  she  had  not;  she  had  never  before  seen  them. 

The  young  man  who,  like  herself,  had  been  watching  the 
squirrels  play  and  was  still  standing  half-concealed  be- 
hind the  trunk,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  was  an  utter  stranger. 
Impossible  that  she  had  ever  in  her  life  met  him.  If  she 
had,  she  would  never  have  forgotten  him. 

It  was  not  easy  to  forget  that  serious,  reserved  Greek 
faoe,  with  the  nervous  nose  narrow  across  the  bridge  and 
the  shining  dreamer's  eyes. 

His  appearance  was  not  extremely  elegant.    It  pleased 


The  Song  of  Songs  461 

Lilly  bettei*  si'.  He  wore  a  brown,  somewhat  old-fashioned 
overcoat,  and  the  suit  beneath,  of  which  she  caught  a 
glimpse,  was  of  a  woolly  material  sprinkled  with  little 
tufts,  by  no  means  of  German  make  and  certainly  not  Eng- 
lish. 

Gradually  life  came  into  him.  He  put  on  his  hat,  and 
stepped  from  behind  the  tree. 

*'Now  he'll  speak  to  me,''  the  sickening  thought  shot 
through  Lilly's  mind. 

No.  He  merely  raised  his  hat,  glanced  at  her  again  for 
the  fraction  of  a  second  with  an  expression  of  query,  as- 
tonishment, and,  at  the  same  time  recognition,  walked  past 
her,  and  took  the  way  she  had  just  come. 

Lilly  also  wanted  to  leave  the  spot,  but  she  was  unable 
to ;  and  since  she  must  not  be  discovered  looking  after  him 
she  hid  behind  the  same  tree  that  had  concealed  him. 

**I  wonder  whether  he  will  look  back." 

No.  He  did  not  look  back  either.  She  felt  hurt  and 
neglected. 

The  tall  figure  dwindled  in  the  distance.  *' Never  been 
in  the  army,"  she  thought,  judging  from  his  rather  heavy 
gait.  Then  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  stooped,  drew  him- 
self up  again,  and  looked  back.  In  fact,  he  spied  about 
a  long  time  as  if  compelled  to  discover  her. 

But  she  kept  herself  carefully  hidden  and  did  not  move. 

He  walked  on  and  disappeared  behind  a  curve. 

**What  a  pity  I  didn't  take  the  carriage,"  thought 
Lilly. 

She  might  be  overtaking  him  now  without  appearing  to 
follow  him,  and  the  seven-pointed  coronet  would  not  have 
failed  of  its  effect.  As  it  was,  he  naturally  cherished  a  bad 
opinion  of  the  lady  who  walked  about  alone  whistling  like 
a  boy  and  throwing  pebbles  at  poor  enamoured  squir- 
rels. 


462  The  Song  of  Songs 

Nevertheless,  while  walking  homeward,  she  felt  as  if  sh 
had  been  presented  with  a  lovely  gift. 

Where  could  she  have  seen  him  before? 

She  recalled  a  young  man  of  the  Dresden  days.  It  was 
once  when  she  was  out  walking  arm  in  arm  with  the  colonel 
along  the  Prager  Strasse.  She  had  seen  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  with  the  very  same  sad  flash  of  recognition  in  them. 

Then — she  remembered  it  well — ^she  had  wanted  to  look 
back  and  ask  him: 

''Who  are  you?  Do  you  belong  ta  me?  Do  you  want 
me  to  belong  to  you?" 

But  even  the  partial  turn  of  her  head  would  have  been 
a  crime  in  her  husband's  eyes. 

And  now,  now  that  she  was  free,  free  to  choose  her  friends 
according  to  her  heart's  desire,  she  had  let  him  go,  him, 
the  one — whether  the  same  as  the  Dresden  man  or  another 
— who  belonged  to  her,  perchance,  as  she  to  him. 

She  walked  along  with  half-closed  eyes,  and  conjured 
up  his  image.  A  small,  dark,  two-cornered  beard,  so  close- 
cut  on  his  cheeks  as  to  give  them  a  blue  sheen.  Such 
beards  were  seldom  to  be  seen  in  Berlin.  Frenchmen  and 
Italians  affected  them.  FuU,  firm,  tightly  compressed  lips, 
lips  such  as  a  sculptor  chisels.  A  high,  square  forehead, 
on  which  something  like  wrath  seemed  to  be  imprinted,  not 
ordinary  wrath  against  herself  or  any  poor  mortal.  It 
was  not  of  this  world,  and  it  really  was  divine  love. 

Thus  Lilly's  enthusiasm  fed  itself.  She  forgot  the  way, 
and  strayed  about,  finally  arriving  at  a  spot  in  an  entirely 
different  direction  from  that  which  she  should  have  taken. 
The  most  dreadful  things  might  have  happened  to  her  in 
the  woods,  where  solitary  ladies  are  exposed  to  encounters 
with  tramps  at  any  hour  of  the  day.  But  she  scarcely 
gave  heed  to  her  danger.  She  reached  home  two  hours 
too  late,  tired,  but  in  a  glow. 


The  Song  of  Songs  468 

She  could  not  eat.  She  threw  herself  on  the  chaise 
longue  and  dreamt. 

The  bell  rang.     She  heard  a  man^s  voice. 

It  could  not  be  Eichard.  He  never  came  before  half 
past  four. 

Adele  entered.  There  was  a  strange  gentleman  outside 
who  wished  to  know  whether  the  lady  had  lost  her  card- 
case.     He  had  found  one  in  the  woods. 

Lilly  jumped  to  her  feet.  Actually  the  little  brocade 
case  which  she  had  held  in  her  hand  with  her  silver  net 
purse  was  gone.     In  her  excitement  she  had  not  missed  it. 

*'Like  what  does  the  gentleman  look?" 

Tall  and  young  and  handsome,  in  fact,  very  handsome. 

*'A  short,  dark  beard?'' 

**Yes." 

Lilly  reeled. 

**Let  him  come  in,"  she  stammered.  She  did  not  think 
of  beautifying  herself.  She  merely  ran  her  hands  over 
her  face  and  hair  in  a  dazed  way. 

When  he  appeared  in  the  doorway  she  scarcely  recog- 
nised him,  so  thick  was  the  red  mist  before  her  eyes. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  she  heard  him  say — it  was  the  serene 
voice  of  a  man  whose  ways  are  not  impure — **I  would 
not  have  disturbed  you  had  your  address  been  on  your 
cards.  I  found  your  number  in  the  directory,  but  I 
couldn't  be  certain  whether  there  were  not  more  of  the 
same  name  in  the  city." 

"You're  very  kind  to  have  taken  all  that  trouble,"  she 
replied,  inviting  him  to  be  seated. 

*'My  name  is  Dr.  Rennschmidt, "  he  said,  waiting  be- 
hind the  back  of  his  chair  until  she  had  settled  herself  in  a 
corner  of  the  sofa.  On  sitting  down  he  drew  the  card- 
case  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

She  smiled  her  thanks  j  and  feeling  she  must  enhance 


464  The  Song  of  Songs 

the  value  of  his  courtesy,  she  said  the  case  was  a  memento 
she  prized  highly,  the  loss  of  which  would  have  distressed 
her. 

**A  memento  of  my  husband,"  she  added. 

His  face  grew  a  shade  more  serious. 

A  little  pause  ensued,  during  which  his  eyes  !'ested 
steadily  on  her  face,  reading,  questioning,  comparing,  and 
wondering.  Nothing  of  that  bold  groping  of  other  men's 
glances.  A  clean,  unconscious  joy  amounting  to  devout- 
ness  lay  in  his  look. 

** Didn't  we  meet  just  a  little  while  ago  at  the  edge  of 
the  woods?"  Lilly  asked  warily. 

**Yes,"  he  replied  with  animation.  **And  if  I  hadn't 
been  so  awkward  I  should  have  begged  your  pardon  imme- 
diately for  having  unintentionally  spied  on  you.  I  saw 
how  startled  you  were.  But  I  myself  was  so — how  shall 
I  say?  All  I  thought  was :  *  Clear  out.  You'll  be  serving 
the  lady  best  that  way.'  " 

His  frank,  blithe  manner  did  her  good,  though  it  shamed 
her  a  little. 

"Now  you've  done  me  a  much  greater  service,"  she 
said,  feeling  as  appreciative  as  if  he  had  saved  her  life. 

''Oh,  don't  speak  of  it.  If  only  I  had  turned  back  in- 
stantly. But  the  earth  seemed  to  have  swallowed  you  up. 
I  was  worried  about  you." 

She  smiled  to  herself,  fearful  in  her  happiness.  A  little 
more,  and  she  would  have  acknowledged  where  she  had 
stowed  herself. 

''What  did  you  think  of  me  when  you  saw  me  strolling 
about  the  woods  alone?"  she  asked. 

*'That  you  don't  feel  alone  when  you're  with  nature. 
Otherwise  you'd  have  had  company  with  you." 

"You're  right,"  she  replied  eagerly.  "Besides,  my  car- 
riage was  waiting  in  the  Hundekehlenrestaurant" — after 


The  Song  of  Songs  465 

all  the  carriage  would  play  its  part — ''but  it  was  impru- 
dent of  me.  I  suppose  you  are  also  very  fond  of  na- 
ture?'* 

**Very?  I  hardly  know.  I  must  say  in  Cordelia's 
words:  I  love  it  'according  to  my  bond;  nor  more  nor 
less.'  To  love  nature  is  really  no  merit  nor  peculiarity. 
It  is  simply  a  vital  function.     Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

"Certainly,"  she  faltered,  and  thought,  "Oh,  how  clever 
he  is?     How  will  I  acquit  myself?" 

"But  to  be  quite  frank,"  he  continued,  "I  am  having 
a  strange  experience  with  nature  here.  I  cannot  accustom 
myself  to  it.  Its  poverty  oppresses  me.  I  am  like  one 
who  has  outgrown  his  home  and  reproaches  himself  for  it. 
I  try  to  get  back  to  my  old  attitude,  and  I  admire  and 
flatter  German  nature  whenever  I  possibly  can.  But  first 
other  pictures  in  my  mind  must  fade.  You  see  I  have  just 
returned  from  Italy,  where  I  spent  the  last  two  years." 

Heaving  a  deep  sigh  Lilly  stared  at  him.  She  felt  as  if 
now  he  were  absolutely  unearthly. 

"Two  whole  years?"  she  asked  in  astonishment. 

"I  am  working  on  a  large  scientific  work,  on  account 
of  which — no,  I  was  really  sent  to  Italy  on  account  of  my 
health.  My  uncle,  who 's  a  father  to  me,  wanted  me  to  go. 
I  didn't  think  of  the  work  until  I  got  there.  Then  my 
own  country  and  my  studies,  everything,  fell  into  the 
background." 

As  he  spoke  his  eyes  glowed  and  stared  into  space,  full 
of  will  and  enthusiasm.  The  old,  slumbering  desire  for 
Italy  began  to  beat  its  wings  again  in  Lilly's  breast. 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  cried  with  the  same  enthusiasm  as  he,  '  *  isn  't 
it  so?  There  all  ideas  grow,  and  you  feel  what  you  can 
do,  and  you  become  what  you  wanted  to  be  from  the  first. 
Isn't  it  so?  I've  never  been  there,  but  I  feel  what  I  say 
strongly.     There,  in  the  home   of  everything  great  and 


466  The  Song  of  Songs 

beautiful,  you  yourself  become  greater  and  more  beauti- 
ful— and — everything — sordid  passes  away.     Isn't  it  so?" 

He  listened  dumbfounded,  and  embraced  her  with  a 
beaming  gaze. 

**Yes,"  he  replied  almost  solemnly.  *'It  is  so,  ex- 
actly." 

She  tingled  with  delight.  Did  it  not  seem  that  with 
these  words  he  made  an  avowal  of  the  inner  union  between 
them,  the  avowal  she  had  hoped  for  from  the  very  first  in- 
stant of  their  meeting  ?  Did  it  not  seem  that  nothing  now 
separated  them?  ^^^ 

She  looked  down  helplessly. 

Was  he  really  the  embodiment  of  that  shade  which  had 
so  senselessly  fastened  itself  upon  her  soul  since  the  Dres- 
den days? 

*  *  I  feel  as  if  we  had  met  before, ' '  she  said  softly  without 
raising  her  eyes. 

** Exactly  the  way  I  feel,"  he  rejoined  hastily.  **But  it 
cannot  be,  for  I  should  know  where  and  when. ' ' 

**Were  you  in  Dresden  six  years  ago  at  about  this  time?" 

*  *  No, '  *  he  said.  *  *  Six  years  ago  I  was  studying  at  Bonn. 
The  semester  came  to  an  end  at  this  season,  but  I  went 
directly  to  my  uncle,  who  was  having  his  castle  restored." 

''Where  is  his  castle?" 

"Near  Coblenz." 
'     So  they  had  not  met  in  Dresden. 

"But  if  we  both  have  the  same  feeling — "  said  Lilly. 

"There  are  pictures  in  our  souls  which  seem  to  be  recol- 
lections, but  in  fact  are  previsions." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  one — that  one — walks  as  on  the  edge  of  a 
knife  between  the  past  and  tke  present,  and  reels  and  falls 
into  a  void  the  instant — " 

"What?" 


The  Song  of  Songs  467. 

**The  instant — '*  he  broke  off — **I  beg  your  pardon,  are 
you  an  artist  T' 

**Why?'*  she  asked,  unpleasantly  taken  aback.  Did  he 
want  to  make  merry  at  her  expense  ? 

* '  I  read  your  sign  outside. ' ' 

The  sign !    ' '  Pressed  Flower  Studio. ' ' 

Violently  torn  out  of  sweet  dreams  and  plunged  into 
bitter  reality! 

But  now  she  must  be  on  her  guard.  She  must  not  lose 
nis  esteem. 

*Mn  a  way,"  she  replied.  *'A  very  modest  sort  of  art 
which  I  used  to  pursue.  But  it  made  me  very  happy.  I 
learned  it  just  after  I  lost  my  husband" — ^the  fatal  ** di- 
vorce" would  not  pass  her  lips — "less  for  the  sake  of  a 
livelihood  than  to  lend  my  life  content.  But  then  I  had 
to  give  it  up — ^because — of  a  trouble  with  my  eyes." 

Three  lies  in  the  same  breath. 

"Why  not  ?  She  was  lies  within  and  lies  without.  Every 
gesture,  every  thought  was  a  lie.  But  the  great  cry  of 
her  soul  vibrating  through  her  entire  being,  **You  shall  be 
mine;  I  will  be  yours,"  was  not  a  lie.  And  for  his  sake 
she  continued  to  lie. 

*  *  I  don 't  like  to  speak  of  it. '  *  She  wiped  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief.  *^It  still  pains  me.  And  please  don't 
ever  again  refer  to  it  in  the  future." 

** Again,"  **in  the  future,"  she  had  said,  as  if  taking 
it  for  granted  that  they  would  continue  to  meet.  Her 
words  filled  her  with  shame  and  confusion. 

She  rose  and  turned  her  face  aside. 

**I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  abashed.  "I  could  not  have 
divined — "    He  rose  to  take  leave. 

**Stay,  stay,  stay!"  her  soul  cried.  But  she  was  unable 
to  speak.     She  was  benumbed. 

Perhaps  he  had  seen  through  her  lies,  and  had  instantly 


468  The  Song  of  Songs 

realised  who  she  was,  and  did  not  care  to  remain.  She 
felt  haughtiness  congealing  her  features. 

''It  was  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  graciously  extend- 
ing her  finger  tips. 

The  moment  had  come  in  which  to  invite  him  to  visit 
.  her,  but  the  words  froze  on  her  lips. 

He  had  turned  very  pale  and  looked  straight  into  her 
face  expectantly. 

**I  hope  we  meet  some  time  again,"  he  said  finally. 

*'I  hope  so,"  she  replied  very  formally. 

He  lightly  touched  her  hand  with  his  lips  and  left. 

Over!    Over!    And  her  fault! 

Happiness  had  come,  had  laid  its  blessing  hand  on  her 
forehead,  and  had  flown  away  again,  leaving  behind  noth- 
ing but  this  pain,  a  wild  pain,  such  as  she  had  never  be- 
fore felt.  It  fairly  tore  at  her  throat  and  heart  like  a 
physical  affliction. 

During  the  night  she  devised  a  thousand  schemes  for 
hunting  him  up  and  meeting  him  again. 

He  was  a  scholar  and  probably  frequented  the  library. 
She  would  go  there  and  read  and  study,  and  some  day 
she  would  surely  meet  him. 

Or,  simpler  still,  she  would  write  to  him. 

*'I  don't  love  you,"  she  would  say.  **Why  should  I? 
I  scarcely  know  you.  But  I  am  confident  that  I  could  bo 
something  in  your  life.     Therefore — " 

Then,  disgusted  with  her  lack  of  dignity,  she  rejected 
every  plan. 

No,  Lilly  Czepanek  after  all  would  not  throw  her- 
self away  in  such  fashion. 

Once  more  it  became  impossible  for  her  to  remain  at 
Vhome. 

In  the  daytime  she  walked  along  the  Potsdamer  Strasse 
and  Leipziger  Strasse,  where  the  metropolitan  bustle  is 


The  Song  of  Songs  469 

the  greatest.  In  the  evenings  she  did  not  visit  distant  dis- 
tricts as  formerly,  but  with  a  busy  air  hurried  incessantly 
up  and  down  the  lonely  banks  of  the  canal  near  her  home. 
Despite  her  strict  economy  she  always  kept  the  light 
ourning  in  her  drawing-room,  and  did  not  confess  to  her- 
self why. 

It  was  about  eight  o  'clock  in  the  evening  four  days  after 
the  meeting.  The  stars  hung  like  lamps  in  the  heavens. 
Lilly  was  pacing  along  the  further  bank  of  the  canal,  when 
she  noticed  the  figure  of  a  young  man  who  was  looking 
fixedly  in  the  direction  in  which  her  home  lay. 

She  could  not  distinguish  his  features,  because  he  kept 
his  back  turned.  Besides,  he  had  selected  a  dark  spot  for 
his  coign  of  observation. 

With  a  slight  throbbing  of  her  heart  she  continued  on 
her  way,  though  after  a  while  her  legs  refused  to  carry  her 
further  in  the  same  direction.     She  had  to  turn  about. 

She  found  the  dark  figure  still  standing  motionless 
among  the  trees.  From  across  the  water  the  light  in  her 
drawing-room  peered  through  the  bare  branches. 

This  time  he  heard  her  tread,  and  faced  about. 

She  recognised  his  features  and  started. 

He  also  thrilled  with  the  shock  of  surprise.  For  an  in- 
stant he  foolishly  pretended  not  to  see  her,  but  then  he 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  took  off  his  hat  with  an  abashed 
smile. 

Lilly  trembled  so,  she  could  not  hold  out  her  hand. 

**Dr. — Kennschmidt,"  she  managed  to  say. 

He  was  the  first  to  recover  his  composure. 

*'You  will  wonder,''  he  began,  stepping  alongside  of 
her,  *'why  I  stand  here  in  the  dark  and  look  over  there. 
If  I  were  to  say  it  was  a  mere  chance,  you  wouldn't  believe 
me.     So  I  will  frankly  confess  I  could  not  rid  myself  of 


*470  The  Song  of  Songs 

the  thought  that  at  our  parting  something  went  wrong — 
there  was  a  misunderstanding — precipitancy — I  felt  I 
ought  to  beg  your  pardon  for  something." 

**If  you  felt  that  way,  why  didn't  you  come  up  to  me. 
and  tell  me  so?" 

''Was  I  permitted  to?" 

**Why  not?" 

**You  see,  we  men  have  no  rights  with  women  except 
such  as  they  give  us.  No  others  exist  for  us.  To  be  sure, 
we  may  stand  in  the  dark  here,  and  bite  our  lips — " 

*'Did  you?" 

** Don't  ask  me." 

His  voice  did  not  quiver,  but  a  tremour  ran  through  his 
arm,  which  grazed  hers. 

Lilly,  alarmed,  stopped  and  helplessly  looked  back  at 
the  dark  way  she  had  come. 

**That  means — I — I  must  say  good-by?"  he  asked. 

In  the  light  of  the  lamp  she  saw  his  eyes  clinging  to 
her  with  a  look  of  fearsome  inquiry. 

''Oh,  no,"  she  replied  slowly,  as  if  some  one  else  were 
speaking  in  her  stead.  "Now  that  we  are  together,  we 
will  remain  together." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  he  said.  The  same  gravity  of  an 
oath  lay  in  his  words  as  she  had  put  into  hers. 

They  walked  along  in  silence. 

Then  he  began  in  a  lighter  tone. 

"But  I  must  call  your  attention  to  something.  Your 
light  is  burning.  If  you  really  do  want  to  favour  me  with 
an  hour,  I'm  afraid  the  thought  of  the  waste  will  disquiet 
you.'' 

"Well,  we'll  put  it  outl"  she  replied  gaily,  and  turned 
on  her  heels  so  abruptly  that  he  continued  to  make  two  or 
three  steps  forward. 


The  Song  of  Songs  471 

As  they  crossed  the  slender  arch  of  the  HohenzoUern- 
briicke,  he  pointed  up  to  the  heavens. 

''Jupiter  shines  on  our  undertaking.  I  like  him  better 
than  Venus,  who  runs  after  the  sun  and  needs  a  rosy- 
flooring  for  her  feet." 

** Which  is  Jupiter?'*  asked  Lilly  standing  still. 

He  eargerly  showed  her  the  lord  of  the  heavens  and  five 
or  six  constellations.  Lilly  clapped  her  hands  like  a 
pleased  child. 

**Now  I'll  always  feel  at  home  up  there  when  I'm  alone 
evenings  and  look  out  of  the  window."  She  refrained 
from  saying  more  of  what  was  in  her  mind. 

While  he  waited  in  front  of  the  door,  she  ran  upstairs, 
turned  off  the  light,  put  the  key  in  her  pocket,  and  hastily 
told  Adele  she  would  take  supper  out  that  evening.  She 
lingered  for  nothing  else  and  came  hurrying  down  again. 

Outside  the  apartment  door  she  reeled  with  joy  and 
clung  to  the  post  and  sobbed. 

But  by  the  time  she  reached  the  street  her  bearing  had 
become  quite  proper. 

*  *  If  you  are  willing  to  entrust  yourself  to  my  guidance, ' ' 
he  said,  *'I  know  a  little  comer  no  one  would  dream  of 
finding  us  in.     It's  practically  in  Italy." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

**If  only  he  wouldn't  speak  so  much  of  Italy,"  she 
thought,  though  for  nothing  in  the  world  would  she  have 
gone  elsewhere  than  to  his  Italian  restaurant. 

They  walked  along  the  canal  for  about  five  minutes 
talking  nonsense.  The  medley  of  lights  of  the  Potsdamer 
Briicke  was  quite  near  when  he  paused  in  front  of  a  nar- 
row, dimly  lighted  shop  window,  where  about  two  dozen 
wine  bottles  wreathed  with  green  cotton  vines  grew  like 
asparagus  out  of  sand. 


472  The  Song  of  Songs 

*'Here  Signor  Battistini  serves  a  Chianti,  than  which 
none  better  is  to  be  had  in  Florence,"  he  explained. 

They  entered  the  shop  and  crossed  a  small  anteroom,  in 
which  the  proprietor,  black  as  the  ace  of  spades,  was  past- 
ing labels  behind  the  bar. 

*^8era,  padrone/'  Lilly *s  friend  greeted  him. 

From  the  anteroom  they  passed  into  a  rather  long,  hall- 
like room  filled  with  simple  tables  and  chairs.  The  only 
decoration  consisted  of  crisscrossed  garlands  of  shiny  green 
paper  bits,  evidently  ambitious  of  being  considered  vine 
leaves,  which  twined  about  the  bare  gas  brackets  and  fell 
over  hooks  in  the  walls.  To  inform  the  guests  of  the  oc- 
casion for  this  luxuriant  display,  a  placard  hung  from  the 
centre  wishing  them  on  this  March  evening  a  **  Happy 
New  Year." 

''What  do  you  say  to  this  fairy  garden?"  asked  Lilly's 
friend,  while  the  waiter,  black  as  his  master,  with  an  im- 
probable pair  of  fiery  wheels  in  his  face,  beseechingly  held 
out  his  hands  for  her  cloak. 

At  the  other  tables  sat  young  fellows  with  thick  hair, 
who  rolled  long,  thread-like  cigarettes  between  their  teeth 
and  nearly  thrust  the  knuckles  of  their  clenched  fists  in 
one  another's  eyes  while  spouting  Italian  with  fascinating 
rapidity. 

"Marble  cutters,"  Dr.  Rennschmidt  explained  in  a  low 
voice.  "Our  great  sculptors  employ  them  as  assistants. 
They  earn  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  as  soon  as  they  have 
saved  enough  they  return  to  Italy  to  establish  a  house- 
hold." 

Two  women  sat  apart  from  the  men.  Their  black,  lus- 
treless hair  drawn  very  low  on  their  foreheads  gave  their 
eyes  the  appearance  of  torches  burning  in  sombre  woods. 
Gold  rings  hung  in  their  ears,  and  their  dresses,  cut  too 
deep  at  the  throat,  were  held  together  by  roughly  made 


The  Song  of  Songs  473 

brooches.  They  looked  at  Lilly's  tall  figure  in  envious 
admiration,  then  fell  to  whispering  busily. 

Dr.  Rennsehmidt  nodded  to  them  cordially,  yet  with  an 
indifferent  air,  as  one  who  has  nothing  to  conceal  or  re- 
veal. 

**  Ballad  singers  belonging  to  a  Neapolitan  folk-song 
troupe.  Their  leader  deserted  them,  and  they  're  now  look- 
ing for  an  engagement." 

*' Where  am  I?"  thought  Lilly. 

It  was  like  a  dream,  as  if  an  Aladdin's  lamp  had  trans- 
ported her  to  a  strange  land.  The  one  thing  by  which  she 
knew  she  was  in  Berlin,  Germany,  near  the  Potsdamer 
Briicke,  was  the  placard's  complacent  ** Happy  New 
Year." 

**I've  been  coming  here  every  day  since  my  return,"  said 
Dr.  Rennsehmidt,  after  they  had  settled  themselves  com- 
fortably in  a  corner.  **I  cannot  cure  myself  of  homesick- 
ness for  the  south.  The  best  German  cookery  has  no 
charms  for  me,  and  I  must  have  my  Chianti.  But  to-day 
we'll  order  some  other  wine,  because  you  have  to  cultivate 
a  taste  for  Chianti." 

He  nodded  to  the  waiter,  Francesco  by  name — Francesco, 
as  if  he  had  just  stepped  from  a  romance  about  knights 
and  brigands.  The  two  held  a  lively  conference,  the  result 
of  which  was  a  dusty,  light-coloured  bottle. 

The  dishes  were  strange  confections  of  macaroni  and 
meat  swimming  in  yellowish  red  gravy. 

Lilly  could  not  recall  ever  having  eaten  anything  so  de- 
licious. She  told  him  so.  But  what  she  did  not  tell  him 
was  that  she  had  never  in  her  life,  never  since  she  could  re- 
member, felt  so  good. 

The  last  course  was  a  ''giardinetto/*  a  ** little  garden,** 
of  mandarins,  dates,  and  Gorgonzola  cheese. 


474  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  frothy,  yellow  wine  with  an  aroma  of  nutmeg  bub- 
bled into  the  glasses  scattering  bright  drops. 

Leaning  against  the  wall,  Lilly  let  her  eyes  rest  dream- 
ily on  her  new  friend's  face. 

He  turned  his  head  now  this  way,  now  that,  with  rapid 
little  movements  like  a  bird's.  He  seemed  constantly  alert 
to  observe  and  absorb.  Or  perhaps  his  manner  was 
due  to  his  desire  to  bestow  some  additional  attention  upon 
her.  His  eyes  gleamed  with  eagerness  and  exuberance  of 
life,  and  the  network  of  wrinkles  on  his  brow  rose  and  fell 
nervously.  The  cloud  of  wrath  on  his  forehead  apparently 
was  nothing  more  than  his  seething  ardour. 

He  had  a  dear,  droll  habit  which  increased  the  impres- 
sion of  eagerness.  He  would  raise  his  outspread  fingers  to 
his  head  as  if  to  run  them  through  a  heavy  mass  of  hair. 
But  the  mass  was  no  longer  there,  and  his  hand  clapped 
against  his  bare  forehead  and  rested  there  a  second  or  two. 

Everything  about  him  bespoke  force  and  decision — to 
Lilly's  admiration,  well-nigh  to  her  dread.  Nevertheless, 
although  a  golden  brown  tinge  of  health  from  the  south 
still  coloured  his  cheeks,  his  body  was  not  robust.  His 
throat  was  delicate,  his  breath  came  and  went  hastily,  and 
sometimes,  when  a  veil  fell  over  his  eyes  as  if  he  were  look- 
ing inward,  a  soft  weariness  crept  over  his  features  which 
gave  him  an  extremely  youthful  appearance  and  evoked 
motherly  feelings. 

*'So  that's  what  you  are,''  she  thought  and  stretched 
herself  in  blissful  peace.    * '  At  last. ' ' 

''Why  are  you  closing  your  eyes?"  he  asked  solicitously. 
* '  Aren  't  you  feeling  well  1 ' ' 

'*Yes,  oh,  yes,"  she  said  caressingly.  **But  speak  to 
me,  tell  me  about  down  there  where  I  've  always  wanted  to 
be  and  never  could  be. ' ' 

Lilly  went  on  to  tell  him  of  the  great  yearning  which 


The  Song  of  Songs  475 

the  consumptive  teacher  had  awakened  in  her,  and  how  it 
had  continued  to  smoulder  under  all  the  ashes  life  had  cast 
upon  it. 

*'I  in  your  place  would  have  made  a  pilgrimage  there 
barefoot. ' ' 

*' Pshaw/'  she  said.  **I've  had  money  enough.  But 
I've  never  been  free.  Once  I  got  as  far  as  Bozen  and  had 
to  turn  back^ — as  a  punishment — because  a  young  man 
ogled  me." 

**0h,  dreadful,"  he  laughed,  **that  was  hard  luck. 
Much  harder  than  you  divine." 

*'0h,  I  divine  it,"  she  sighed.  *'I  need  merely  look  at 
you." 

''Why  at  me?" 

**  Because  you  shine  like  Moses  after  he  witnessed  the 
glory  of  the  Lord." 

He  became  serious. 

''There  are  glories  up  here,  too.  But  you're  right.  I 
have  so  much  life  and  light  stored  up  in  me  from  down 
there,  so  many  sources  have  been  opened  up,  so  many  germs 
have  begim  to  sprout — sometimes  I  hardly  know  what  to 
do  with  all  my  wealth.  I  write  my  fingers  bloody,  and 
more  keeps  coming.  I  would  like  ever  to  give,  give,  give. 
But  I  don't  know  to  whom." 

**To  me,"  she  implored,  holding  out  her  hands  palm  up- 
ward.    "I  am  so  miserably  poor." 

He  looked  at  her  with  great,  severe,  clairvoyant  eyes. 

"You  are  not  poor.     They  have  simply  let  you  starve.'* 

"Isn't  that  the  same  thing?" 

He  shook  his  head,  continuing  to  keep  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  her  rigidly. 

"What  was  your  husband?"  he  asked. 

"I — am — the  divorced  wife — of  an  army  officer  of  high 
rank,"  she  replied  with  downcast  eyes. 


476  The  Song  of  Songs 

This  time — ^thank  the  Lord ! — it  was  not  a  lie. 

Yet,  to  be  accurate,  she  had  lied. 

For  see  what  she  was  now! 

He  clasped  her  hand,  which  lay  next  to  his  on  the  table, 
and  held  it  an  instant. 

*'If  it  is  difficult  for  you  to  speak  of  your  life,  don't," 
he  said.  **  Later,  perhaps,  when  we  know  each  other  bet- 
ter, you  will  tell  me.  I  will  tell  you  about  myself — and 
how  I — came  to  do  my  work.'' 

*  *  The  work  of  which  you  spoke  that  time  ? ' '  Lilly  asked, 
strangely  stirred  by  the  sudden  solemnity  of  his  tone. 

Drawing  a  deep  breath  he  stretched  out  his  clenched 
fists  and  his  eyes  stared  into  space. 

**Yes — ^the  work  for  which  I  live,  which  is  my  goal  and 
mainstay  and  future;  which  takes  the  place  of  father  and 
mother  and  friends  and  lover.  For  which  this  draught  of 
wine  was  vintaged^  and  this  hour  created,  and  you  your- 
self, you  with  your  lovely,  delicate  beauty  and  your  two 
begging  hands,  which  were  really  fashioned  for  giving." 

*'I  thought  you  wanted  to  speak  of  your  work,"  said 
Lilly,  softly. 

*'I  am  speaking  of  it.  I  always  speak  of  it.  I  only 
want  to  show  you  how  restlessly  it  absorbs  my  experiences. 
How  many,  for  instance,  have  sung,  painted  and  sculptured 
the  Annunciation !  And  how  many  scholars  have  grubbed 
over  it!  Yet  when  I  see  the  good,  humble,  astonished, 
almost  frightened  Virgin  Mary  eyes  you  are  making  this 
very  instant,  I  feel  the  final  word  has  not  been  spoken,  the 
supreme  conception  is  still  to  be  formed.  You  see,  that  is 
the  way  everything  must  serve  my  work." 

**Are  you  a  poet?"  asked  Lilly,  completely  taken. 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

**r'm  neither  a  poet  nor  a  painter,  nor  a  historian,  nor 


THe  Song  of  Songs  477 

a  psychologist.  Yet  I  must  be  something  of  each,  and 
more  to  boot.    My  work  requires  it." 

Then  he  told  his  story. 

His  father  had  been  instructor  at  a  university  and  an 
eminent  jurist.  His  mother  had  died  in  giving  him  birth, 
and  his  father  did  not  survive  her  long.  He  then  came 
under  the  care  of  his  uncle,  a  rich,  experienced  old  bach- 
elor, who  had  passed  a  lively  life  in  business  and  pleasure- 
seeking,  and  now  dwelt  in  merry  singleness  in  his  castle. 
He  had  given  Dr.  Rennschmidt  an  education  and  had  as- 
sured him  a  small  income  which  enabled  him  in  a  modest 
fashion  to  indulge  his  wishes  and  whims.  Dr.  Renn- 
schmidt had  intended  to  follow  in  his  father's  footsteps 
and  enter  an  academic  career,  but  the  examinations,  which 
he  had  passed  honourably,  had  tried  his  health.  So,  to 
satisfy  his  uncle,  he  had  given  up  the  idea  of  a  university 
career  for  the  time  being,  and  had  gone  out  into  the  world. 
He  had  been  drawn  to  Italy  by  his  studies  in  the  history 
of  art,  which  he  had  always  pursued  with  interest,  though 
without  considering  them  his  life  work.  What  fascinated 
him  more  than  the  churches  and  the  museums  was  the 
free,  beautiful  humanity  in  which  the  lively  southern  race 
expressed  its  personality.  He  felt  as  if  it  had  awakened 
in  him  a  new,  free  humanity,  conscious  of  its  own  powers. 
He  felt  more  and  more  strongly  the  original  unity  of  artis- 
tic and  personal  experience,  past  and  present.  The  heroes 
of  mythology  and  history,  the  characters  in  poetry  and 
painting,  and  the  poets  and  painters  themselves  all  became 
so  real  and  familiar  that  they  seemed  to  be  part  of  his  own 
being.  Surrounded  by  a  people  saturated  with  its  own 
history,  possessing  the  skill  of  a  thousand  years'  exercise 
of  art,  always  in  touch  with  the  spirit  of  the  time,  it  seemed 
possible  to  him  to  penetrate  into  the  emotional  world  of 


478  ^  The  Song  of  Songs 

past  generations.  He  learned  to  distinguish  menuments 
of  different  periods  and  follow  those  related  to  each  other 
step  by  step  along  the  course  of  time. 

His  guide  always  had  been  and  remained  art.  Art  was 
best  able  to  wring  speech  from  the  silence  of  death  and  bid 
the  dust  add  new  forms  to  the  old.  Only  one  thing  was 
still  missing,  knowledge  of  the  sources  of  its  convincing 
might,  the  A  B  C  's  of  the  language  in  which  it  expressed 
its  thoughts. 

Lilly  strained  herself  to  follow  him.  She  had  never  be- 
fore listened  to  such  language;  yet  it  was  not  strange. 
Remnants  from  of  old,  from  long-forgotten  times  seemed 
to  cling  to  the  bottom  of  her  soul,  which  harmonised  with 
what  he  said. 

*'One  day,'*  he  continued,  ** while  I  was  staying  in 
Venice,  I  went  off  on  a  short  excursion  to  Padua.  By  rail- 
road it's  about  the  same  as  going  from  Berlin  to  Potsdam. 
I  wasn't  keen  about  seeing  the  art  there,  because  I  was 
still  in  the  honeymoon  intoxication  of  my  love  for  the  early 
Venetians.  It  was  only  for  the  sake  of  completeness.  I 
got  into  a  little  church  in  which  there  are  frescoes  by 
Giotto.     Do  you  know  who  he  was?" 

**  Certainly — Giotto  and  Cimabue,"  she  said  proudly. 

* '  Then  I  needn  't  say  more.  I  really  had  little  left  in  me 
for  him  and  his  people,  because,  as  I  said,  the  quattrocent- 
ists  had  heated  my  imagination.  Now  just  conceive  a 
Roman  amphitheatre  completely  ruined  and  overgrown 
with  ivy,  nothing  but  the  outer  walls  still  standing,  like 
the  walls  of  a  garden.  In  the  enclosure  is  the  little  church 
built  of  brick,  as  sober  and  prosaic  as  a  Prussian  Protest- 
ant praying  barn.  * ' 

Lilly  smiled  gratefully.     A  side-thrust  at  Protestantism 
was  still  a  personal  favour  to  her. 
"  Services  are  no  longer  held  there.     It  has  been  set  aside 


The  Song  of  Songs  479 

as  a  national  monument.  When  I  entered  I  saw  nothing 
at  first  but  a  blue  radiance  from  the  walls,  a  sort  of  modest 
background,  with  long  rows  of  pictures  on  it,  the  story  of 
Ghrist  told  quite  simply,  the  way  a  preacher  speaking  to 
poor  people  would  tell  it  on  Good  Friday,  provided  he  is 
the  right  preacher  for  poor  people/^ 

**But  aren't  we  all  poor  people  in  the  presence  of 
Christ?"  Lilly  ventured  to  interpose. 

He  paused,  looked  at  her  with  large  eyes,  then  assented 
eagerly. 

''Certainly.  But  not  only  in  the  presence  of  Christ,  in 
the  presence  also  of  every  great  personality,  of  every  great 
truth.  But  it  isn't  easy  for  us  to  cultivate  that  feeling — 
to  make  it  clear  to  ourselves  that  we  must  be  poor  when 
what  is  given  to  us  ought  to  enrich  us.  Religion  is  best 
able  to  inspire  us  with  the  feeling,  if  it  finds  the  correct 
means  of  expression.  And  the  Italians  did.  A  poor  man 
spoke  to  poor  men.  Therein  lay  the  wealth  of  Giotto's 
gift.  For  what  moves  us  to  tears  is  not  his  vast  compe- 
tence, it  is  his  incompetence.     Do  you  get  what  I  mean?" 

*'I  think  I  do,"  said  Lilly,  her  face  lighting  up.  *'If 
a  man  desires  something  of  us,  and  can  merely  stammer 
and  stutter  his  desire,  he  affects  us  more  than  if  he  says  it 
in  a  prepared  discourse." 

*' Exactly!"  he  cried  joyously.  /^That's  why  Giotto's 
scant  speech,  his  stammering  created  the  whole  language 
of  art.  Everything  before  him  had  simply  been  learned 
by  heart  from  dead,  Byzantine  models.  For  the  first  time 
a  man  read  life  with  simple  eyes  and  a  simple  heart,  and 
extracted  from  it  what  he  had  to  say.  That  is  why  he  be- 
came the  universal  master.  To  this  very  day  if  anyone 
succeeds  in  portraying  supreme  suffering  and  supreme  de- 
light with  his  brush,  he  owes  his  skill  to  that  little  church." 
I  can  conceive,"  cried  Lilly,  *'that  if  the  ocean  had  a 


a 


480  The  Song  of  Songs 

source  and  a  man  were  suddenly  to  come  upon  it,  he  would 
feel  as  you  do.*' 

In  the  exuberance  of  his  emotion  Dr.  Rennschmidt  seized 
Lilly's  arm  with  both  hands. 

** That's  the  missing  figure.  It's  strong  enough  to  ex- 
press what  took  place  in  me.  But  I  came  upon  another 
source.  While  I  walked  along  those  frescoed  walls,  some- 
thing suddenly  stood  before  me  clearly — and  my  work  was 
there,  sprung  from  nothing:  the  history  of  emotions. 
Emotions,  you  know,  as  art  has  seen  and  portrayed  them  in 
all  generations.  Not  only  the  pictorial  and  plastic  arts. 
They  are  only  a  fraction.  Literature  also.  Poetry  as  well 
as  painting,  sculpture  as  well  as  music.  I  thought  in  that 
way  I  might  succeed  in  creating  a  true,  genuine  history  of 
the  development  of  the  human  heart,  which  no  moralist, 
no  historian,  no  psychologist  has  yet  attempted.  Why  not  1 
The  documents  are  at  hand ;  just  as  fossils  lie  embedded  in 
rocks  for  the  guidance  of  zoologists.  They  need  merely 
be  cut  out.  What  do  you  think?  Isn't  it  a  work  worth 
spending  a  lifetime  on?" 

**It  is,"  said  Lilly,  with  the  same  solemnity. 

**0h,  but  there's  much  to  be  thought  over  first,"  he  went 
on.  **You  cannot  make  an  impetuous  onslaught  like  a  bull 
on  a  red  rag.  Often  art  leads  us  astray  because  it  strove 
to  reproduce  something  entirely  different  from  the  emo- 
tional life  of  its  time.  Whether  it  succeeded  or  not  is  an- 
other question.  And  often  it  was  wanting  in  the  neces- 
sary means  of  expression.  Oh,  you  and  I  will  speak  of 
this  many  more  times.  Don't  look  so  frightened.  I  need 
you.  After  this  evening  I  could  not  get  along  without 
you.  Nobody  before  you  ever  listened  with  such  faith  and 
understanding.  Besides,  I  've  grown  to  be  an  utter  stranger 
here.     The  people  I  know  are  full  of  their  own  interests, 


The  Song  of  Songs  481 

ancf  scarcely  listen  to  me.  Then,  too,  there 's  a  bit  of  mad- 
ness in  my  undertaking,  of  which  I  really  ought  to  be 
ashamed.  But  one  thing  comforts  me:  a  bit  of  madness 
has  underlain  every  great  work  until  that  work  was  com- 
pleted and  had  compassed  its  end.  Of  course  everybody 
has  the  same  idea  of  his  own  work.  So  some  time  I'll  rise 
above  that  feeling.  But  now,  while  I'm  wrestling,  and 
every  day  I  think  I  have  discovered  a  new  vein  of  gold 
and  then  am  compelled  to  throw  a  good  deal  away  because 
it's  pinchbeck,  if  I  have  nobody  on  whom  I  can  pour  out 
what  oppresses  and  torments  me,  why  the  jumble  fairly 
chokes  me.  So  fate  sent  me  to  you.  It  was  like  an  inner 
voice,  which  would  not  let  me  rest  at  my  desk,  but  sent  me 
out  to  watch  your  light.  Now  I  have  you,  and  I  won't  let 
you  go.  God  knows,  I  shouldn't  be  so  bold  in  my  own 
behalf,  but  it's  for  my  work.  It  is  clamouring  for  you. 
For  heaven's  sake,  why  are  you  crying?" 

*'  I'm  not  crying,"  said  Lilly,  and  smiled  at  him. 

But  the  tears  kept  rising,  and  veiled  his  lovely  picture. 

**  I  know  what  it  is,"  he  said  sadly.  **  I  wasn't  con- 
siderate. You  are  regretting  your  lost  art,  because  I 
spoke  so  happily  of  my  own  work."  Lilly  started  back 
as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  made^v^hement  denial. 

' '  No,  no,  it  isn  't  that !    Eeally  not ! '  '"N, 

But  he  persisted  in  his  belief;  which  drove  the  thorn 
of  her  own  unworthiness  all  the  deeper  into  her  soul. 

**Let  us  go,"  she  requested.  ** There  is  so  much  assail- 
ing me — happiness  and  unhappiness  and  all  sorts  of  things 
— outside  I'll  be  calmer." 

It  was  long  after  midnight.  A  cold  wind  swept  across 
the  water  and  soughed  in  the  bare  branches. 

He  ofiered  her  his  arm,  and  Lilly  nestled  in  it  as  if  she 
had  been  at  home  there  from  times  immemorial. 


482  The  Song  of  Songs 

For  a  while  they  were  both  silent. 

**In  five  minutes  he'll  leave  me/*  she  thought.  She 
could  not  bear  the  grief  of  impending  loss. 

**One  thing  is  lying  heavy  on  my  conscience,"  he  be- 
gan. ''You  might  think  me  overweening  because  I  make 
so  much  of  myself.  But  I  don't  wish  to  appear  more 
important  than  others.  I  know  every  vigorous  young  fel- 
low must  have  a  similar  work  to  bring  purpose  into  his 
life.  One  has  a  book  to  write,  another  a  business  to  carry 
on,  another  a  dependent  to  support.  For  some  it's  enough 
if  they  keep  their  heads  above  water.  It  doesn't  matter 
what.  If  you  let  yourself  go,  you're  lost.  And  none  of 
us  want  to  be  lost,  do  we  ? " 

'*I  think  I  lost  myself  long  ago,"  whispered  Lilly, 
shuddering  and  crouching  like  a  whipped  dog. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

**You,  the  best,  the  finest,  the  noblest." 

She  knew  how  undeserved  his  praise  was.  Yet  how  de^ 
licious,  oh,  how  delicious. 

They  were  now  walking  so  closely  pressed  against  each 
other  that  their  cheeks  almost  touched.  She  closed  her 
eyes  and  ardently  drank  in  the  warm  breath  of  his  life. 
She  felt  she  was  being  wafted  to  unknown  blessed  dis- 
tances. 

She  did  not  come  to  herself  until  they  reached  her  home. 

**When?"  he  asked  her. 

She  had  no  time  the  next  day.  She  was  invited  out. 
But  the  day  after.  Yes,  the  day  after,  she  had  the  whole 
evening  free.     He  need  only  call  for  her. 

For  fear  she  might  after  all  ask  him  to  come  the  very 
next  day,  she  hurried  into  the  house,  ran  up  the  steps,  and 
concealed  her  happiness  in  the  hushed  apartment. 

She  did  not  turn  on  the  lights.  The  street  lamps,  shin- 
ing on  the  walls  of  the  drawing-room  and  touching  rain- 


THe  Song  of  Songs  '483 

bow  colours  on  the  chandelier  prisms,  provided  sufficient 
illumination. 

She  began  to  wander  through  the  open  doors  from  room 
to  room,  into  the  comer  where  the  bed  stood,  around  the 
dining  table,  acmss  the  drawing-room,  into  the  cold  guest 
room,  which  had  never  received  a  guest,  up  and  down, 
back  and  forth,  singing,  crying,  exulting. 

And  from  amid  her  tears  and  singing  and  exultation 
suddenly  arose — ^how  did  it  go  ? 

Come,  my  beloved!     Let  us  go  forth  into  the  field. 
Let  us  spend  the  night  in  the  villages. 
Let  us  get  up  early  to  the  vineyards. 
Let  us  see  if  the  vine  have  blossomed. 

No,  not  quite — a  little  different.  But  she  would  surely 
get  it. 

Impetuously  she  raised  the  lid  of  the  piano,  which  had 
so  long  remained  closed.  As  if  the  neglected  instrument, 
enforced  into  silence,  had  suddenly  acquired  a  life  of  its 
own,  a  flood  of  sound  rushed  toward  her,  of  which  she 
had  deemed  neither  the  piano  nor  herself  capable. 

Let  us  see  if  the  young  grape  have  opened. 
Whether  the  pomegranates  have  budded. 
There  will  I  give  my  young  love  unto  thee. 

Yes,  that  was  the  way  it  went.  Exactly.  She  had 
found  each  note  again. 

Where  had  it  kept  itself  hidden  all  those  long  years  1 

It  seemed  as  if  the  last  time  she  had  sung  it  had  been 
the  veiy  day  before.  ^ 

Yet  worlds  of  suffering  lay  between. 

No,  not  suffering. 

"If  only  it  had  been  suffering,'*  thought  Lilly,  **the 
Song  of  Songs  would  never  have  become  mute.** 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  next  morning  on  awaking  Lilly  began  to  worry- 
anew. 

Nobody  was  so  blind  as  not  to  detect,  on  coming  closer, 
how  worm-eaten  was  her  existence.  Least  of  all  he  whose 
fine  feelings  vibrated  under  each  spiritual  touch  and  awoke 
an  anxious  echo  in  her  soul. 

Even  if  it  were  possible  for  her  to  create  a  sort  of  island 
on  which  she  might  prevent  him  from  coming  into  contact 
with  her  world,  wasn't  her  very  appearance  a  traitor?  All 
those  mad  nights  could  not  have  passed  over  her  without 
leaving  traces.  Two  years  before  Dr.  Salmoni  had  already 
remarked  a  change  in  her  appearance.  **A  cold,  disdain- 
ful look, ' '  he  had  said. 

She  jumped  from  bed,  and  ran  to  the  mirror  to  subject 
every  feature  to  suspicious  scrutiny. 

Her  eyes  had  grown  tired.  There  was  no  disputing  that. 
But  they  did  not  look  disdainful.  ** Virgin  Mary  eyes,'* 
Dr.  Rennschmidt  had  said,  not  ** Madonna  eyes."  Was 
there  a  difference?  On  her  brow  were  faint  cobwebby 
lines;  but  she  Sould  well-nigh  rub  them  away  with  her 
finger.  **They  will  disappear  with  a  little  massaging," 
she  said  to  herself.  But  the  deep  grooves  on  either  side  of 
her  mouth  were  bad.  They  gave  her  face  a  haughty,  sa- 
tiated expression.  **The  paths  that  consuming  passion 
long  has  trod,"  she  quoted  from  **Tannhauser  in  Rom," 
which  she  knew  almost  by  heart. 

And  yet — had  she  not  preserved  her  noblest,  her  pro- 
foundest  feelings?    As  if  to  save  them  up  for  this  One? 

484 


The  Song  of  Songs  485 

And  now  that  the  One  had  come,  it  was  too  late  perhaps. 

She  spent  the  day  in  misery,  and  when  Richard  came 
for  his  tea,  he  found  red  eyes. 

That  afternoon  proved  to  her  clearly  wHat  she  possessed 
in  Richard.  He  asked  so  few  questions,  and  was  so  sym- 
pathetic and  full  of  solicitude,  that  for  a  moment  or  two 
she  felt  comforted  and  secure.  She  almost  succumbed  to 
the  temptation  to  tell  him  a  little  about  her  new  acquaint- 
ance, as  was  right  between  two  such  good  friends.  For- 
tunately she  resisted  the  impulse.  Rather  let  Adele  into 
the  secret,  who  had  several  times  observed  encouragingly: 

**You  may  trust  me  fully.  I  know  life  far  too  well  not 
to  take  the  lady's  side." 

Wishing  to  avoid  ''the  whole  crew,*'  as  she  dubbed  the 
circle  of  her  friends,  Lilly  pled  sickness,  and  Richard 
rested  satisfied.  In  the  evening  it  occurred  to  her  she  had 
told  Dr.  Rennschmidt  she  was  going  out.  She  hastily  put 
out  the  light,  and  sat  brooding  in  the  dark  until  bedtime. 

The  next  morning  the  mail  brought  her  a  letter  ad- 
dressed in  an  unknown  hand. 

She  tore  the  envelope  open  and  read: 

I  cannot  rest,  I  cannot  sleep  before 
I  speak  to  you,  before  the  prayer  torn 
From  out  my  breast  in  passionate  outpour 
Swiftly  on  wind  and  wave  to  you  is  borne. 

I  sit  and  dream  by  lighted  lamp;  still  lies 

My  work.     With  hours  stolen  I  entwine 

A  crown  of  flame  that  heavenly  aspires 

In  tongues  of  fire  up  round  your  head  divine. 

Oh,  chide  me  not  for  uttering  words  uncalled; 
Chastise  me  not  for  sacred  spell  I've  broken 
In  which  your  lofty  spirit  is  enthralled. 
I  am  a  struggler — I  must  needs  have  spoken. 


486  The  Song  of  Songs 

Good  Heavens!  Did  this  refer  to  her,  to  Lilly  Czep- 
anek,  who  ate  her  heart  out  in  dull  self-depreciation? 

If  any  human  being  in  the  world  could  think  of  her  so, 
above  all  he,  the  most  glorious — ^she  knew  the  poem, 
though  unsigned,  came  from  him — ^then  after  all  she  was 
not  in  such  a  bad  way ;  then  perhaps  her  life  had  not  taken 
a  permanent  hold  upon  her ;  probably  her  innermost  being 
had  remained  intact,  and  values  lay  strewn  in  her  soul 
which  needed  only  to  be  used  in  order  to  sanctify  and 
bless  herself  and  others. 

Long  after  she  knew  the  verses  by  heart  she  read  them 
again  and  again.  She  could  not  tear  her  eyes  from  the  be- 
loved writing. 

Then  she  tried  to  set  the  words  to  music.  She  opened 
the  piano,  and  fantasied.  Her  playing  came  back  to  her 
as  on  the  other  night;  everything  she  had  known  as  a 
girl  and  had  thought  long  forgotten  came  back.  She 
needed  merely  to  drop  her  fingers  on  the  keys,  and  there 
it  was — or  nearly  so. 

But  her  finger  joints  were  stiff,  and  the  muscles  of  her 
lower  arm  soon  wearied.  She  would  have  to  practise  and 
limber  them. 

**When  he  visits  me,  I  can  even  play  a  classic  for  him,'' 
she  thought.  Buoyed  by  the  new  hope  she  floated  further 
along  on  the  current  of  her  newly  won  self-esteem. 

At  the  same  time  she  kept  careful  count  of  each  minute 
that  separated  her  from  the  evening. 

Richard  found  her  practicing  assiduously. 

** What's  gotten  into  you  to-day?"  he  asked.  *'I  hadn't 
the  slightest  idea  you  could  play  so  well. '  * 

** Neither  had  I,"  laughed  Lilly. 

"You  must  play  for  the  others  this  very  evening." 

'*This  evening?"  Lilly  asked,  alarmed.  **I  thought  I 
had  this  evening  free." 


The  Song  of  Songs  487 

**Free!  What  do  you  mean  by  free?"  he  rejoined,  evi- 
dently annoyed.  **You  act  just  as  if  our  going  out  in 
company  were  heaven  knows  what  a  sacrifice.  You  keep 
to  yourself  whenever  you  can  possibly  get  a  chance.  Yes- 
terday, in  fact,  Karla  said  nobody  really  knows  what  sort 
of  life  you  lead." 

**I  think  that  applies  much  better  to  Karla  than  to  me. 
Nobody  really  knows  her  name." 

'*It  doesn't  matter.  Others  have  criticised  your  re- 
served ways,  too.  One  man  even  hinted  I'd  better  keep 
m}^  eye  on  you  more  than  I  do,  and  not  let  you  go  your  own 
waj^  so  much.  So  to  hush  them  up  I  promised  I  'd  bring 
you  this  evening  instead  of  yesterday.  There's  no  getting 
out  of  it." 

Lilly  instantly  reflected  that  a  refusal,  far  from 
helping,  would  merely  arouse  his  dormant  suspicions.  So 
she  bravely  choked  down  fright  and  tears.  But  when  he 
left  the  anguish  of  disappointment  was  all  the  keener. 

What  would  Dr.  Rennschmidt  think  if  he  came  at  the 
appointed  time  and  found  her  out  ?  Since  he  had  not 
mentioned  his  address,  she  could  not  write  to  him,  and  he 
would  have  a  full  day  in  which  to  nurse  evil  suspicions. 

In  an  agony  of  apprehension  she  sought  comfort  with 
Adele,  whose  dry,  peevish  face  perceptibly  brightened. 
She  seemed  to  be  in  her  element  when  it  came  to  deceiving 
a  person,  or,  better  still,  two  persons. 

"The  best  thing,"  she  said,  ** would  be  for  you  to  say 
a  sick  friend  had  asked  you  to  come.  Something  sad  like 
that  takes  them  all  in."  She  knew  it  from  experience, 
she  assured  Lilly. 

That  evening  her  friends  did  not  get  much  entertain- 
ment out  of  Lilly.  She  disregarded  the  gentlemen,  and 
gave  the  ladies  rude  answers.  Mrs.  Jula,  the  only  one 
whose  presence  would  have  pleased  her,  was  absent,  as 


488  The  Song  of  Songs 

had  become  usual  of  late.  They  finally  left  her  to  herself, 
and  Richard,  the  dear  fellow,  who  had  hoped  to  parade 
his  possession,  helplessly  gnawed  the  ends  of  his  mous- 
itache. 

The  next  morning  Lilly  again  suffered  the  torments  of 
dread. 

"When  she  had  come  home  the  night  before,  despite  the 
late  hour,  she  had  awakened  Adele,  who  said  he  had  come, 
and  had  looked  dreadfully  upset.  He  had  gone  away  with- 
out saying  anything. 

Another  day  spent  in  nervously  counting  the  minutes. 
She  stood  in  front  of  the  mirror,  utterly  despondent,  ^nd 
dressed  herself  for  him.  She  would  have  liked  to  sink  at 
his  feet  when  he  entered.  Nevertheless  she  determined 
to  maintain  in  words  and  gesture,  then  and  in  the  future, 
a  certain  gentle,  melancholy  grandeur  of  manner  which 
would  nip  suspicion  in  the  bud,  and  would  correspond  with 
the  picture  of  her  he  had  drawn  in  his  verses.  When  she 
thought  that  that  stupid,  much-kissed  head  of  hers  should, 
from  now  on  be  a  ''head  divine,**  she  grew  thoroughly  ill 
at  ease  from  sheer  sanctity. 

At  half  past  seven  the  bell  rang. 

She  received  him  with  a  conventional  smile,  and  the 
gentle,  melancholy  grandeur,  which  she  succeeded  in  adopt' 
ing  perfectly,  concealed  her  harassed  spirits. 

His  manner,  she  saw  at  the  first  glance,  was  also  con- 
strained. His  eyes  glided  past  her  with  a  singularly  empty 
expression. 

"He  has  divined  everything,"  her  soul  cried. 

But  she  bore  up  nobly. 

**I  must  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said,  ''for  not  having 
kept  our  appointment." 

**I  hope  your  friend  is  feeling  better,"  he  said,  while 
a  disdainful  smile  of  doubt  played  about  his  lips. 


The  Song  of  Songs  489 

She  made  all  kinds  of  explanations,  said  whatever  came 
into  her  head;  and  without  looking  at  him,  she  knew  he 
believed  not  a  syllable. 

*'I  must  beg  your  pardon,'^  he  rejoined  after  she  had  fin- 
ished, with  the  same  lurking  disdain  in  his  voice  and 
smile. 

**I  sent  you  some  verses  which  I  hope  you  will  consider 
nothing  more  than  what  they  really  are,  a  mere  harmless 
stylistic  effort  without  sense  or  significance.'* 

'*He's  already  withdrawing,'*  her  guilty  conscience 
cried  j  and  all  the  colder  and  worldlier  was  her  reply. 

**I  admit  your  pretty  verses  did  astonish  me  at  first.  I 
couldn't  conceive  that  I  was  a  fitting  subject  to  inspire 
them.  But  then  I  thought  you  probably  meant  nothing 
more  than  w^hat  you  just  now  said,  and  I  did  not  feel  of- 
fended.    If  you  wish  we  won 't  say  more  about  it. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  with  great  questioning  eyes,  and  she 
rejoiced  at  having  requited  him  so  bitterly. 

Wishing  to  observe  the  rules  of  decorum  she  invited  him 
to  stay  for  supper,  though  absolutely  nothing  had  been 
prepared  for  a  guest. 

*'I  thought  I  was  to  be  permitted  to  take  you  out,"  he 
replied  in  a  hard,  disillusioned  tone. 

She  smiled  politely. 

**Just  as  you  wish." 

They  descended  the  stairs  in  silence,  and  in  silence  paced 
along  the  canal,  the  same  way  they  had  walked  three  even- 
ings before,  pressed  close  against  each  other  in  drunken 
bliss.  Then,  too,  they  had  not  spoken;  but,  oh,  how  dif- 
ferent had  their  silence  been ! 

*'What  have  you  done  the  last  few  days?"  Lilly  finally 
asked,  to  make  conversation. 

**  Nothing  special.     I  tried  to  write  an  article  for  the 


490  The  Song  of  Songs 

Miinchener  Kunstzeitschrift,  on  which  I'm  a  collaborator. 
My  subject  was  the  Sienna  School  outside  of  Sienna.  But 
it  didn't  turn  out  very  well.  The  editor  won't  be  sat- 
isfied." 

Lilly  read  reproach  of  herself  in  his  words.  Evidently 
he  wanted  to  indicate  that  her  entrance  into  his  life  was  to 
blame. 

And  when  he  asked  to  what  restaurant  she  would  like  to 
go,  she  said,  her  wounded  heart  quivering: 

**I'm  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty,  and  people  and  lights 
would  hurt  me.'* 

She  wanted  to  add  something  about  **not  wishing  to  be 
a  burden"  and  similar  things,  but  swallowed  the  words 
before  they  were  spoken. 

''If  you  wish  to  avoid  people,  we  might  go  to  the  Tier- 
garten." 

Lilly  agreed.  Had  he  said,  * '  Come  down  into  the  waters 
of  the  canal  with  me,"  she  would  have  assented  even 
more  willingly. 

The  hard  park  roads  stretched  before  them  in  the  light 
of  the  electric  lamps  like  long  galleries  with  garish  walls, 
between  which  one  was  forced  to  run  the  gauntlet.  The 
pedestrians  coming  toward  Lilly  and  Dr.  Rennschmidt 
measured  the  tall  couple  with  cold,  intrusive  curiosity. 

''It's  worse  here  than  in  the  crowded  streets,"  said 
Lilly. 

Her  aching,  despondent  heart  fluttered  with  excitement. 

He  pointed  to  a  side  path  leading  into  darkness;  and 
without  speaking  they  dipped  into  solitude. 

Above  the  towering  masses  of  branches  the  cloudy  sky 
looking  like  a  metal  whose  brilliance  has  worn  off,  re- 
flected the  invisible  sea  of  city  lights.  Through  the  lattice- 
work of  the  leafless  bushes  gleamed  the  lamps  lining  the 
more  public  ways ;  and  on  all  sides  the  gongs  of  the  electric 


The  Song  of  Songs  491 

trams,    shooting   hither    and    thither,    sounded    like    fire 
alarums. 

But  there  in  the  interior  of  the  park,  quiet  and  darkness 
prevailed.  Lilly  felt  she  had  sunk  into  a  black  sea  of 
mournfulness. 

The  silence  between  them  became  intolerable. 

Suddenly  Dr.  Rennschmidt  stepped  in  front  of  Lilly 
and  blocked  the  way. 

'^What^s  the  matter?*'  she  asked,  startled. 

*'Mrs.  Czepanek — Mrs.  Czepanek — what  I  am  going  to 
say — what  I  am  going  to  say'* — ^his  raised  hands  jerked 
back  and  forth  before  her  face — **will  either  bring  us 
together  again — or — send  us  apart  forever.  I  was  cow- 
ardly before.  I  thought  I  could  evade  the  truth.  When 
I  said  I  didn  't  mean  what  I  wrote  in  my  poem,  I  was  lying. 
I  felt  exactly  what  I  wrote.  And  a  thousand  times  more 
strongly.  But  I  oughtn't  to  have  spoken.  I  know  I 
frightened  you.  You  were  bewildered.  You  didn't  know 
how  to  take  me.  You  probably  think  me  some  enamoured 
adventurer  who  wants  to  exploit  the  trust  you  show. 
Dear,  dear  Mrs.  Czepanek,  I  promise  you  I  will  never 
again  annoy  you  with  a  display  of  my  feelings.  But  don 't 
withdraw  your  friendship  from  me.  Please  don't.  Just 
imagine  what  would  become  of  me  if  I  were  to  lose  you!*' 

So  that's  what  it  was! 

Oh,  God !     If  nothing  else  stood  between  them. 

She  could  not  help  herself — she  had  to  lean  against  a 
tree  and  cry.  Her  tears  soon  soaked  her  veil,  and  she  raised 
it  and  pressed  her  finger  tips  to  her  eyes. 

*' What's  the  matter?"  she  heard  his  voice,  hoarse  with 
anxiety.  **  Did  I  woimd  you  so  deeply?  Was  what  I 
eaid  so  very  bad?  I  will  atone  for  it.  Just  pardon  me. 
You  must  pardon  me.*' 

When  she  heard  him  beg  her  pardon  so  humbly  for  the 


492  The  Song  of  Songs 

immeasurable  happiness  he  had  bestowed  upon  her,  she 
was  seized  with  a  frenzy,  and  throwing  her  grand  manner 
to  the  winds  and  her  shame,  to  boot,  she  flung  her  arms 
about  his  neck  with  a  groan  of  abandon,  pressed  her  body 
against  his,  and  kissed  his  lips,  and  sucked  and  bit  them. 

Under  the  impetus  of  this  wild,  unchaste  kiss,  he  stag- 
gered and  held  himself  erect  on  her,  digging  his  fingers  into 
the  flesh  of  her  upper  arm. 

How  good  it  felt,  because  it  hurt  so ! 

* '  At  last,  at  last ! ' '  her  heart  cried. 

Now  he  knew  who  she  was  and  what  she  had  to  give 
him. 

When  she  pulled  herself  together,  she  saw  he  had  sunk 
back  with  his  head  leaning  against  the  same  tree  that  had 
supported  her.  His  hat  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  His 
eyes  were  closed.     His  face  had  the  ashen  hue  of  death. 

For  a  few  moments  all  was  still.  The  only  sound  was 
the  clanging  of  the  tram  bells. 

*  *  My  love,  my  love ! ' '  she  whispered,  stooping  and  then 
drawing  herself  upward  on  him.  *'Wake  up,  my  love, 
wake  up,  and  come!*' 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  stared  at  her  with  the  look  of 
a  foolish  slave. 

**Come,  come,''  she  exulted.  **Come  back,  come  home. 
I  don't  want  to  roam  about  any  more — in  the  woods  or 
restaurants.     Come  home!    Come  to  me!" 

He  did  not  respond.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  his  mind 
completely. 

A  dull  sense  of  guilt  awoke  in  her,  but  was  instantly 
stifled  by  joy. 

"Come,  come!" 

With  both  hands  she  drew  him  away  from  the  spot  that 
had  become  the  cradle  of  her  bliss — and  his,  too.  Was 
it  remarkable  that  happiness  should  benumb  him  and  rob 


The  Song  of  Songs  493 

him  of  his  senses?  He  upon  whom  Lilly  Czepanek  be- 
stowed herself,  Lilly  Czepanek  for  whose  favour  hundreds 
had  begged  in  vain,  might  well  lose  his  senses.  It  by  no 
means  derogated  from  his  dignity. 

While  she  drew  him  along  the  roads  and  streets,  she  let 
loose  upon  him  her  soul's  tempest  in  a  delirium  of  happy 
prattle. 

Hadn't  he  an  inkling  of  what  he  was  that  he  should 
have  harboured  such  doubts?  She  had  belonged  to  him 
from  the  very  first  instant.  A  miracle  had  taken  place  in 
her  as  well  as  in  him.  Never  had  she  known  what  love 
was  until  the  day  when  the  squirrels  chipped  over  their 
heads.  The  rest  of  her  life  no  longer  existed  for  her.  He 
alone  was  there.  He  and  his  eyes.  He  and  his  mouth. 
He  and  his  will.  He  and  the  great,  glorious  work  which 
she  would  toil  for  like  a  slave;  which  she  would  enrich 
wath  her  love,  because  from  old  pictures  and  poems  he 
could  gather  nothing  but  the  grey  ashes  of  love.  Genuine, 
young  blissful  love,  she  would  teach  him,  she,  Lilly  Czep- 
anek, who  had  waited  for  him  ever  since  she  could  remem- 
ber, who  belonged  to  him  from  the  beginning,  from  the 
beginning  of  time,  you  might  say.  He  could  see  God  had 
destined  them  for  each  other,  because  they  both  thought 
they  had  met  before,  whereas  they  had  never  met  in  life. 
At  most  in  dreams.  She  had  seen  him  in  her  dreams  al- 
waj'-s,  always.     Exactly  as  in  fairy  tales. 

*VPerhaps  it  is  a  fairy  tale.  Tell  me,  tell  me,  you  whose 
first  name  I  do  not  even  know.  But  no  matter.  Tell  me, 
it's  not  a  mere  fairy  tale." 

But  he  said  nothing.  He  walked  along  like  a  somnambu- 
list. He  followed  her  up  the  steps  mechanically,  and  re- 
mained standing  stiffly  in  the  centre  of  the  drawing-room, 
into  which  she  had  led  him.  When  the  lights  were  turned 
on,  he  looked  about  with  a  shy,  searching  glance,  as  if  he 


494  The  Song  of  Songs 

had  never  seen  the  room,  and  could  not  recollect  how  he 
had  come  there. 

She  clung  to  him,  and  said  he  should  sit  quite  still  and 
rest,  and  close  those  eyes  of  his.  Then  she  helped  him 
remove  his  overcoat,  and  pressed  him  into  a  seat  and 
kissed  him  on  both  '* those  eyes'*  until  his  lids  closed  and 
he  reclined  there  as  if  actually  asleep. 

**Now  wait,  beloved,  until  I  come  back.'* 

She  ran  joyously  into  the  kitchen  to  order  Adele  to  pre- 
pare supper  hastily.  Then  she  hurried  into  the  bed- 
room, where  she  changed  her  rustling  silk  dress  for  a  light 
blue  tea-gown,  turquoise-studded,  in  which,  as  Richard 
was  wont  to  say  gallantly,  she  was  Venus  herself.  She 
arranged  her  hair  more  loosely  and  discarded  her  rings. 
The  only  jewel  she  left  was  a  gold  bracelet. 

Adele,  the  sulky,  had  transformed  the  table  as  if  by 
magic  into  a  bower  of  flowers,  and  her  face  was  wreathed 
in  smiles;  for  at  last  there  were  human  goings-on  in  this 
respectably  indecent  house.  The  plated  silverware  gleamed 
on  the  fresh  damask,  and  the  aroma  of  golden  bananas 
came  from  the  fruit  basket. 

He  might  be  content.  Lilly  was.  Her  dread  had  disap- 
peared. She  felt  well-nigh  victorious.  But  her  happi- 
ness was  too  humble  to  be  totally  unqualified. 

Her  one  pride,  greedy  for  recognition,  was  that  she  had 
so  much,  so  much  to  give  him. 

When  she  entered  the  drawing-room,  she  no  longer  found 
him  reclining  on  the  arm-chair.  To  her  terror  she  saw 
he  was  standing  in  front  of  the  secretaire— absorbed  in 
contemplation  of  Richard's  picture. 

**0h,  if  only  I  had  taken  it  away  before!"  she  thought. 
Now  it  was  too  late. 

He  let  a  confused,  astonished  look  glide  over  the  Venus 
robe,  and  fetching  a  deep  breath,  grasped  both  her  hands. 


The  Song  of  Songs  495 

''Why  did  you  make  yourself  so  beautiful  for  me?'* 

**Just  to  give  you  a  little  feeling  of  being  at  home 
here/'  she  said,  dropping  her  eyes.  ** Nothing  more.  But 
come.  Let's  go  to  supper.  We  haven't  had  anything  to 
eat  all  evening." 

*'Eat  and  drink  now?  Oh,  very  well — ^I'U  just  sit  at 
table,  if  you  want." 

*'Then  I  don't  care  for  anything  either,"  she  cried, 
clinging  to  him,  and  drawing  her  arm  so  tight  about  his 
neck  that  the  pressure  of  his  body  fairly  robbed  her  of 
her  breath. 

Peter,  the  little  ape,  who  had  slept  in  his  corner  the 
whole  time,  awoke  and  whimpered  jealously,  and  stretched 
his  grey  arms  yearningly  between  the  bars  of  his  cage,  as 
if  wishing  to  be  the  third  party  in  the  alliance. 

Dr.  Rennschmidt  heard  the  strange  sound  and  started. 

Lilly  smiled  and  calmed  him. 

**Lat^r  I'll  introduce  you  to  all  my  little  ones.  My 
friends  must  be  yours,  too." 

He  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 

**How  is  that  possible?  As  what  would  you  introduce 
me?" 

Lilly  hastily  parried. 

*'0h,  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way.  I  merely  meant — " 
She  was  at  a  loss  what  explanation  to  offer.  Then  she 
felt  his  trembling  fingers  clutch  her  upper  arm.  His  eyes 
burned  their  way  into  hers. 

**Who  are  you?"  he  asked. 

Her  brain  reeled. 

*'Who  am  I?  I  am  a  woman — who  loves  you — who  has 
never  loved  anyone  before." 

He  gratefully  caressed  her  shoulders. 

** Understand  me,"  he  said.  *'I  am  not  trying  to  force 
myself  into  your  confidence.    But  if  the  relation  between 


496  The  Song  of  Songs 

two  human  beings  is  what  ours  has  been  for  the  past  hour, 
they  want  to  mean  everything  in  the  world  to  each  other. 
I  have  never  met  a  woman  like  you.  I  am  utterly  helpless. 
The  few  little  experiences  I  have  had  don't  count.  In 
Rome  a  baker's  daughter  loved  me.  She  ran  away  with 
a  marquis.  When  I  was  a  student  I  went  through  a  few 
similar  episodes.  I  never  mingled  much  in  society.  And 
now  all  of  a  sudden  I  have  you  in  my  arms — the  noblest, 
the  most  glorious  thing  I've  ever  beheld.  A  creature  not 
of  this  world.  I  keep  looking  at  you  as  you  stand  there  in 
your  blue  peplum — why,  it's  as  if  an  old  marble  statue  by 
Lysippus  or  Praxiteles  had  come  to  life.  And  that  is  to 
be  mine?  The  mere  desiring  of  it  is  naked  tragedy.  We 
are  both  making  straight  for  a  precipice,  and  we  don't 
even  resist." 

**Why  resist?"  she  cried,  in  bliss,  throwing  her  head 
back,  as  if  to  toss  from  her  brow  streaming  bacchantic 
locks.     **We  love  each  other.    Nothing  else  concerns  us." 

He  sank  into  the  chair  next  to  her,  and  pressed  his  face 
into  both  hands,  his  body  heaving  as  with  sobs. 

She  kneeled  before  him,  and  bent  her  head,  and  planted 
little  kisses  on  his  clenched  hands. 

*'No,"  he  cried,  jumping  up.  '*!  will  not  permit  my- 
self simply  to  drift.  If  you  think  as  you  do,  you  who  are 
willing  to  sacrifice  everything — ^very  well !  But  I,  who  am 
the  recipient,  I  must  make  everything  clear  to  you,  so  that 
you  know  for  whom  you  are  making  the  sacrifice.  I 
mustn't  leave  any  possibilities  open  to  mislead  you.  I'm 
nothing  but  a  poor  young  fellow  who  lives  by  his  uncle's 
bounty.  I  have  no  prospects.  I  can't  build  on  my  work. 
And  the  few  articles  I  write  don't  count.  I  must  first 
toil  for  my  little  place  in  the  world.  It  may  be  ten  years 
before  I  secure  it.    And  I  can't  let  you  support  me.    Think 


The  Song  of  Songs  497 

what  you  will  of  me,  but  I  must  tell  you:  we  cannot 
become  husband  and  wife/' 

At  first  she  scarcely  comprehended.  It  was  impossible 
for  her  to  realise  that  a  man  could  be  so  naive,  so  un- 
worldly as  to  speak  of  marriage  in  Lilly  Czepanek's  draw- 
ing-room. 

She  burst  into  a  strident  laugh,  the  overflow  of  her  scorn 
of  her  own  worthless  life. 

**Do  you  think,"  she  cried,  jumping  to  her  feet,  "that 
I  'm  nothing  but  an  adventuress  who  tries  to  rope  men  into 
marriage,  one  of  those  harpies" — Mrs.  Jula's  word  oc- 
curred to  her — ''who  pounce  upon  every  passerby?  For 
what  sort  of  a  sorry  wretch  do  you  take  me  ? " 

He  looked  into  her  face  with  astonished,  imcomprehend- 
ing  eyes. 

**A  woman  who  loves  a  man  and  wants  to  be  the  joy  of 
his  life  is  not  a  sorry  wretch." 

Oh,  if  that  was  what  he  meant ! 

The  time  when  in  all  innocence  she  had  wanted  to  be 
Richard's  wife  recurred  to  her.  How  long  ago  was  it? 
How  low  she  must  have  sunk  if  this  most  natural  concep- 
tion of  the  relation  between  man  and  woman  should  have 
become  strange  to  her! 

She  shuddered,  and  was  aware  of  having  turned  pale. 

If  only  he  had  noticed  nothing  amiss.  She  could  stand 
nauch,  but  not  that. 

Humbly,  in  dread  of  his  searching  eyes,  she  replied: 

**I  merely  wanted  to  let  you  know  that  you  are  free 
and  will  remain  free  from  first  to  last.  You  can  leave 
whenever  you  want  to,  and  nothing  will  have  been." 

*'And  you?"  he  asked. 

*'"What  do  you  mean— I?" 

**As  what  will  you  remain  behind  if  I  go?" 


498  The  Song  of  Songs 

*'I'll  take  care  of  that,"  she  laughed. 

The  contingency  was  very,  very  remote.  Why  split  her 
head  over  it  now? 

But  he  was  not  yet  satisfied. 

** There's  something  peculiar  ahout  you.  A  whiff  of 
mystery.  A — a — how  shall  I  say  1  The  shadow  of  a  wrong 
done  you.  You  mingle  much  in  society,  you  say.  Yet 
I  have  the  feeling  that  you  are  lonely  and  perhaps  unpro- 
tected. Whenever  I  try  to  look  into  you,  I  feel  as  if  rude 
hands  had  been  laid  on  you.  From  now  on  I  will  stand 
by  to  protect  and  advise  you.  But  I'm  so  inexperienced 
in  worldly  matters.  It  can  easily  come  about  that  without 
divining  it  I  may  merely  add  to  the  mischief  in  your  life. 
And  I  would  not  for  the  world — you  are  holy  to  me.  So 
you  must  tell  me  now,  to-night,  whatever  you  may  of  what 
you  have  gone  through  and  suffered.    Will  you  ? ' ' 

Lilly  felt  evasion  was  no  longer  possible.  The  hour  had 
struck  of  which  she  had  lived  in  dread  ever  since  she  had 
met  Dr.  Rennschmidt,  though  it  had  seemed  indefinitely 
remote. 

One  of  Mrs.  Jula's  sayings  again  flashed  through  her 
mind: 

"The  road  back  into  the  community  of  virtue  leads 
through  lies.'' 

It  had  begun  with  lies ;  with  lies  it  would  go  on. 

For  an  instant  the  wish  shot  up  within  her  to  tell  him 
the  full  truth.  But  that  was  madness,  suicide.  In  fact, 
she  need  not  lie.  She  need  merely  put  a  different  face 
upon  matters,  the  face  they  wore  when  hope  still  shone 
upon  her  life  and  she  actually  was  what  she  now  endeav- 
oured to  appear  to  be. 

"It  must  be  darker,"  she  said,  extinguishing  the  chan- 
delier's piercing  white  glare.     The  only  light  now  came 


The  Song  of  Songs  499 

ft*om  the  red-shaded  standing  lamp,  which  cast  a  flowery 
shimmer  upon  them. 

Her  hands  in  his,  her  head  leaning  against  his  shoulder, 
she  began  her  whispered,  faltered  confession. 

She  told  of  her  sheltered,  care-free  childhood,  in  which 
music  held  sway,  a  benevolent  spirit  and  a  demon  in  one; 
of  her  father's  flight  and  the  poverty  in  which  she  and  her 
mother  were  left. 

So  far  nothing  to  conceal  or  alter.  The  colonel  also  re- 
mained as  he  had  been,  except  that  she  occasionally 
promoted  him  to  the  rank  of  general.  It  was  not  until 
Walter  von  Prell  stepped  on  the  stage  the  second  time  that 
it  became  necessary  to  mix  in  fresh  colours.  The  mere 
acknowledgment  that  she  had  frivolously  abandoned  body 
and  soul  to  a  tattered  and  torn  jovial  ne'er-do-well  would 
deprive  her  forever  of  her  friend 's  esteem.  So  the  sorry 
little  good-for-nothing  was  quite  naturally  converted  into 
a  happy,  yet  ill-fated  laughing  hero  who  had  been  van- 
quished merely  because  all  the  dark  powers  combined 
against  him. 

Once  launched,  she  sailed  serenely  on.  She  represented 
the  parting  as  having  taken  place  amid  a  thousand  vows 
and  tears  and  bridal  expectations.  As  for  the  duel,  of 
which  she  had  never  learned  the  particulars,  she  exag- 
gerated its  horrors  vastly,  her  lover  emerging  a  total  crip- 
ple, who  left  for  America  resolved  not  to  enter  her  life 
again  until  he  should  be  in  a  position  to  atone  for  his  mis- 
deed by  marrying  her.  So  for  the  meantime  he  placed  her 
in  the  care  of  a  simple,  good  young  man,  who  was  all  nobil- 
ity and  self-sacrifice.  For  love  of  the  vanished  friend,  this 
young  man  had  taken  Lilly's  fate  into  his  keeping  four 
years  before  and  watched  over  her  and  led  her  into  society. 
With  rare  disinterestedness  he  managed  the  little  capital 


500  The  Song  of  Songs 

remaining  from  her  married  days,  and  always  advised  her 
in  practical  matters.  He  came  every  afternoon  for  a  social 
cup  of  tea,  and  sometimes  he  escorted  her  when  she  went 
out  in  the  evening.  His  circle  had  become  hers,  and  every- 
body they  knew  honoured  and  respected  the  fine  relation- 
ship existing  between  them,  the  basis  of  which  was  his  noble 
loyalty  to  his  friend. 

So  Lilly  Czepanek,  with  the  force  of  conviction,  recounted 
her  life  history.  She  almost  believed  in  her  own  words. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  a  fair  picture  of  her  life,  such 
as  Richard  had  once  portrayed  it,  before  she  had  begun  to 
slip  into  the  abyss  the  night  of  the  carnival. 

Of  Kellermann  and  Dr.  Salmon!  and  the  whole  *'crew," 
of  course,  she  said  nothing.  But  she  alluded  to  her  un- 
fortunate art  with  tears — for  the  last  time,  she  said — ^then 
it  should  never  be  mentioned  again. 

She  concluded.  When,  with  a  hesitating  feeling  of  se- 
curity, she  looked  up  to  him  expecting  to  receive  his  absolu- 
tion, she  started  at  the  change  in  his  appearance.  His 
face  was  livid,  his  eyes,  fastened  on  the  ceiling,  glowed  un- 
naturally, deep  furrows  of  anguish  had  cut  themselves  into 
his  cheeks. 

''Doesn't  he  believe  me?"  flashed  through  her  head. 

He  jumped  up,  and  snatched  Richard's  picture  from  the 
secretaire,  and  carried  it  to  the  light  of  the  standing  lamp. 

Lilly  knew  he  was  thinking  of  Walter,  and  timidly  inter- 
jected: 

''That  isn't  he.'* 

"Then  who  is  it?'' 

"His  friend — the  manufacturer.'* 

He  cast  the  picture  aside. 

"Haven't  you  a  picture  of  hisf 

Yes — but  where  was  it?     The  large  pastel  was  in  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  501 

lumber  room.  The  small  one  very  likely  was  stowed  away 
in  some  drawer. 

*'I  packed  it  away/'  she  excused  herself,  ** because  I 
couldn't  bear  to  have  it  in  my  sight  all  the  time." 

She  did  not  tell  him  why  the  sight  of  it  annoyed  her. 
She  preferred  him  to  assume  the  cause  was  her  newly 
awakened  love. 

How  ridiculous,  how  pitiful  it  all  was! 

She  longed  to  sink  at  his  feet  and  cry  to  him : 

*  *  Forgive  me,  forgive  me — ^take  -me  as  I  am,  do  not 
spurn  me. ' ' 

Instead,  she  lied  on,  shamelessly,  desperately,  like  an 
ordinary  adventuress  on  the  verge  of  discovery. 

**Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  hunt  for  the  picture?" 

**Why  do  you  want  to  torture  yourself?" 

'* Please,  I  beg  of  you." 

Further  resistance  was  out  of  the  question.  She  fetched 
the  key  of  the  secretary  from  a  basket,  opened  the  drawers 
at  random,  rummaged  among  the  papers  without  half  look- 
ing, and  actually  found  it.  There  it  was.  She  had  not 
seen  it  for  years. 

The  white-lashed  eyes  looked  haughty  and  cunning. 

**Lie  and  deceive,  lie  and  deceive,"  they  seemed  to  say, 
** That's  just  what  I  used  to  do." 

"Here  it  is." 

He  stepped  to  the  lamp,  and  stared  at  the  picture  long. 
His  lips  twitched  from  time  to  time,  the  picture  quivered 
jerkily  in  his  hands. 

*' Exactly  the  way  I  stood  in  front  of  the  rich  orphan's 
photograph,"  thought  Lilly.     But  that  was  long  ago. 

Then  she  heard  him  speak.     His  voice  was  hoarse. 

*'Will  you  answer  a  question  upon  which  much  de- 
pends!" 


502  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Ask  it,  my  love.'* 

**Do  you  still  count  upon — ^upon  this  young  man's  re- 
turn?" 

Whither  did  the  question  lead?  Lilly  felt  she  need 
merely  say  "no,"  and  every  obstacle  was  removed.  But 
if  she  said  no,  all  her  falsehoods  about  Walter  and  his 
friend  would  have  had  no  significance. 

So  she  had  to  choose  a  middle  course. 

"Sometimes  I  have  my  doubts,"  she  managed  to  say, 
lingering  over  the  words.  "I  am  waiting  for  two  now. 
My  father  seems  to  be  gone — gone  for  good.  And  I  don't 
hear  from  him  either." 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  bound,  just  as  you  did  then?" 

She  felt  the  halter  tightening  about  her  neck. 

"Tell  me." 

Something  in  his  tone  seemed  to  bar  escape.  It  left  no 
nook  to  hide  in.     Her  answer  meant  life  or  death. 

She  held  up  her  arms  as  if  swearing  an  oath. 

"Since  I  know  you  I  don't  care  one  way  or  the  other. 
If  you  want  me  to  be  true  to  him,  I'll  wait  for  him — ^till 
Judgment  Day.  If  you  want  me  to  throw  him  overboard, 
I'll  throw  him  overboard." 

He  threw  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  and  stood 
there  as  he  had  in  the  park.  She  became  alarmed  again  for 
his  sake. 

"Why  does  he  torture  himself  so?"  she  thought.  Then 
it  occurred  to  her  for  the  first  time  that  he  took  her  and 
everything  she  had  said  seriously;  that  he,  who  himself 
practiced  loyalty,  assumed  that  loyalty  was  a  life  principle 
of  hers,  too. 

Oh,  if  he  knew! 

She  was  so  ashamed  she  did  not  dare  to  speak  or  ap- 
proach him. 

He   drew  himself  up   energetically,   and  his  forehead 


The  Song  of  Songs  503 

glowed  with  the  wrathful  will,  which  from  the  first  had 
intimidated  her. 

** Listen,"  he  said.  ** After  everything  youVe  told  me, 
I  know  I  acted  on  a  false  assumption.  You  are  not  neg- 
lected, the  world  has  not  done  you  wrong.  On  the  con- 
trary, you  are  protected  and  cared  for,  and  you're  looking 
forward  to  a  future,  no  matter  how  uncertain  it  may  now 
be.  You  would  lose  all  that  through  me.  The  instant  your 
friend  were  to  suspect  my  existence,  he  would,  of  course, 
withdraw  his  support.  And  all  the  others  who  now  con- 
stitute your  world  would  go  with  him." 

Lilly  wanted  to  burst  out  laughing,  and  give  vent  to 
her  utter  contempt  for  everything  that  had  constituted  her 
former  life.  But  another  thought  instantly  restrained  her. 
Dr.  Rennschmidt  must  continue  to  think  that  Richard 
should  not  suspect  his  existence.  To  defy  her  past  and 
present  was  to  bring  about  a  catastrophe  which  would  ir- 
remediably expose  the  wretchedness  of  her  situation.  She 
might  be  his  only  in  dark  secret  hours. 

He  continued: 

**What  I  have  to  offer  in  return  is  nothing.  I  have 
nothing  but  my  work — you  know.  And  even  my  work 
is  still  in  the  clouds.  Why,  I'm  not  even  certain  of  my- 
self. If  I  think  of  what  I  have  just — "  He  turned  his 
eyes  aside. 

**0f  course,  if  you  don't  love  me,"  said  Lilly,  dejectedly. 

He  threw  himself  in  front  of  her,  placing  one  knee  on 
a  vacant  part  of  the  seat  of  her  chair,  and  putting  his 
arms  about  her  body. 

*  *  Have  mercy  on  me.  You  see  how  I  'm  suffering.  Don 't 
make  it  harder  for  me.  Every  day,  every  hour,  I  should 
say  to  myself:  'Over  in  America  there's  a  man  toiling 
and  moiling  for  her.  He  doesn't  write  simply  because 
he 's  ashamed  to  admit  that  he  has  accomplished  nothing  on 


504  The  Song  of  Songs 

account  of  his  mangled  body.*  I  can't  conceive  any  other 
motive  for  his  silence.  A  man  doesn't  forget  a  woman 
like  you.  In  the  meantime  I  sit  here  with  you  in  secret, 
and  hold  you  in  my  arms.  I  don't  know — I — a  person 
can  debauch,  he  can  commit  adultery — so  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned it  wouldn't  matter.  But  to  rob  a  poor  cripple  of 
his  all — I  think  the  lowest  scoundrel  would  draw  the  line 
at  that.  I  don't  know  how  I'll  get  over  it — "  He  col- 
lapsed. His  forehead  hit  against  the  arm  of  Lilly's  chair, 
and  dry  sobs  shook  his  body.  **But — it  would  be  better — 
immediately — on  the  spot — better  than  later — when  it's  too 
late — for  both — of  us." 

The  blow  had  fallen.  How  cleverly  she  thought  she  had 
garbled  the  truth,  and  here  she  was  caught  in  her  own 
net  of  lies. 

"For  God's  sake,"  she  screamed,  **do  you  mean  to 
say  you  will — " 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

** Farewell,"  he  said.  ** Think  of  me  in  peace.  Thank 
you." 

"If  I  tell  him  the  truth,  he'll  be  all  the  more  certain  to 
go,"  she  thought,  looking  about  helplessly. 

His  hands,  stretched  toward  her,  were  waiting,  his  eyes 
hung  on  her  thirstily,  as  if  to  drink  in  the  picture  forever. 

"I  will  plant  myself  at  the  door,"  she  thought,  "and 
throw  myself  on  him,  and  stifle  him  with  kisses." 

But  the  desire  not  to  lose  his  respect  made  her  small  and 
timorous. 

"Not  this  instant,"  she  implored,  clasping  his  hands. 
"One  hour — one  parting  hour — just  one." 

He  gently  extricated  his  hands  from  her  grasp,  and 
turned  to  the  door.  ^  / 

Raised  to  her  full  height,  Lilly  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  room  in  her  blue  Venus  robe  and  held  out  her  hands 


THe  Song  of  Songs  505 

to  him.  The  wide  sleeves  fell  away  and  revealed  the  ma- 
ture womanly  beauty  of  her  arms. 

**If  he  sees  me  this  way,"  she  thought,  **he  will  still  be 
mine." 

But  he  did  not  turn  about.  He  reeled.  His  forehead 
struck  against  the  half-open  door. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  seemed  to  have  been  wiped  out  of 
existence,  and  v/ith  him  the  light  of  the  world.  A  swarm 
of  bees  buzzed  about  her  head,  and  in  the  darkness  en- 
veloping her,  she  sank  through  the  floor,  deeper,  deeper, 
into  the  canal — a  club  dealt  her  a  blow  on  her  forehead — 
and  all  was  over. 

At  first  it  sounded  like  a  chirping  of  birds,  then  like  the 
murmur  of  a  mighty  throng  in  some  wide  sunny  place; 
and  then  only  two  voices  sounded,  one  a  man's,  the  other 
a  woman's.  They  kept  up  an  eager,  whispered  conversa- 
tion. 

The  cook — Maggie — and  the  lackey  with  the  mischievous 
smile.     Of  course,  that's  who  they  were. 

The  colonel  would  enter  the  next  instant  and  want  her 
to  be  his  wife. 

Something  cool  and  damp  dropped  soothingly  on  her 
aching  head.     Just  as  then. 

*'So  I'll  have  to  go  through  all  that  again,"  she  thought 
in  terror,  and  she  began  to  cry  and  entreat: 

''Oh,  colonel,  please  let  me  go.  I'm  much  too  bad  for 
you!     Oh,  dear  colonel." 

''For  God's  sake,  she's  raving!"  said  the  man.  After 
all  he  wasn't  the  horrid  lackey. 

Oh,  how  deliciously  at  ease  she  lay  in  the  spell  of  that 
voice,  in  which  a  home-like  note  quivered  solicitously. 

"He  didn't  go  at  any  rate."  The  thought  tranquillised 
her,  and  she  settled  herself  more  comfortably  on  the  pil- 


506  The  Song  of  Songs 

low  they  had  placed  ui;ider  her  neck  on  the  floor.  If  she 
had  known  his  first  name,  she  would  have  spoken  to  him. 
Why,  how  disgraceful  not  to  know  his  first  name  yet.  So 
she  merely  raised  her  arms  a  little  toward  him. 

Instantly  he  was  kneeling  beside  her,  stroking  her  hands. 

**Keep  real  quiet,''  he  said,  **real,  real  quiet." 

**Will  everything  be  all  right  now?"  she  asked,  smiling 
up  to  him  in  blissful  peace. 

Yes,  yes,  everything  would  be  all  right.  Ways  and 
means  would  be  found  for  their  remaining  together — ^like 
two  friends,  like  a  brother  and  sister.  They  wouldn  't  part 
. — no,  no,  they  wouldn't  part.  Nobody  need  be  tortured  so 
terribly  as  that. 

Lilly  shuddered  and  thought  of  the  moment  when  the 
light  about  her  had  gone  out,  and  she  had  sunk  into  the 
wet,  slimy  depths. 

Thus  life  would  have  been  without  him. 

But  now  they  would  wander  toward  the  dawning  sun 
hand  in  hand  like  brother  and  sister  in  innocent  gaiety, 
liberated  and  purified. 

Inconceivable  happiness ! 

Strange  that  neither  of  them  had  hit  upon  the  idea 
sooner. 

She  groped  for  his  arm  and  with  a  contented  sigh  nestled 
her  cheek  in  his  hollow  hand. 

But  Adele,  who  all  the  while  had  considerately  been 
looking  out  of  the  window,  thought  the  compress  ought  to 
be  changed,  because  the  wound  on  Lilly's  forehead  was 
still  bleeding. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Each  spring  in  a  man 's  life  has  its  peculiar  aspect  and  its 
peculiar  history.  Each  spring  finds  him  different,  each 
stirs  new  depths  and  opens  fresh,  hidden  wounds.  One 
spring  passes  by  like  a  dull,  vapid  game,  because  he  himself 
just  then  happens  to  be  dull  and  vapid.  Another  tortures 
him  with  a  thousand  fruitless  admonitions,  because  he  can- 
not pay  off  a  penny  of  the  debt  he  owes  himself.  A  third 
finds  him  listless  and  sodden  as  a  field  which  cannot  re- 
cover from  the  winter  stress.  And  again  the  spring-time 
chants  deceptive  hymns  of  liberation  and  redemption  in  his 
heart,  as  if  it  had  the  power  to  liberate  and  redeem. 

But  most  beautiful  is  that  spring  of  which  we  are  scarcely 
aware  for  all  the  spring  joy  within  us ;  whose  bourgeoning 
seems  but  a  reflection  of  our  spiritual  bourgeoning,  and 
which  is  but  the  accompaniment  of  the  mighty  growth  that 
broadens  our  minds  and  souls  and  fairly  bursts  the  bonds 
of  our  being. 

Such  a  spring  broke  upon  Lilly. 

Everything  took  on  a  new  aspect.  Never  had  the  morn- 
ing sun  painted  such  crinkly,  laughing  grotesques  on  the 
walls.  Never  had  rainy  flays  enveloped  the  world  in  such 
languishing  violet  twilights.  Never  had  people 's  faces  been 
brightened  by  so  much  expectant  festivity.  Never  had  the 
din  and  bustle  of  the  streets  revealed  so  much  joyous,  pur- 
poseful activity. 

Why,  all  of  a  sudden  Lilly  also  was  overwhelmed  with 
work. 

Every  hour  was  filled  with  urgent  occupations.  If  any- 
507 


508  The  Song  of  Songs 

one  in  the  last  few  years  had  dared  to  tell  her  that  the 
day  would  come  again  when  with  burning  cheeks  and  a 
heated  brain  she  would  indiscriminately  cram  names,  dates, 
biographies,  lists  of  great  men's  works,  poetical  quota- 
tions, and  foreign  terms,  she  would  have  laughed  him  to 
scorn. 

But  it  would  never  do  to  loaf  now.  She  must  be  ready 
with  a  response  on  any  occasion,  just  as  she  had  been  when 
he  asked  her  about  Giotto.  All  her  eagerness  for  knowl- 
edge, which  a  feeling  of  spiritual  isolation  and  aimless  en- 
deavour had  dammed  up  within  her  for  years,  now  gushed 
out.  Her  mind,  insatiate  as  a  fallow,  unfertilised  field, 
absorbed  whatever  was  thrown  upon  it.  She  scarcely 
needed  to  put  forth  the  least  effort.  If  she  merely  im- 
agined herself  repeating  it  to  him,  it  remained  in  her 
memory. 

She  went  at  her  studies  with  the  utmost  secrecy.  Konrad 
— yes,  his  name  was  Konrad — must  not  suspect  that  her  wis- 
dom had  just  issued  brand-new  from  the  laboratory.  She 
also  kept  her  visits  to  the  museums  a  secret.  He  was  to 
suppose  she  had  alwaj^s  been  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
masters.  In  addition  she  had  to  practice  many  a  piece  of 
early  music  which  he  wished  to  hear  for  his  work.  And 
often  she  blessed  her  father's  strict  hand  which  had  held 
her  down  on  the  piano  stool  throughout  many  a  long  night. 

Lilly  and  Dr.  Rennschmidt  saw  a  great  deal  of  each  other 
— every  other  evening  of  course.  He  avoided  coming  after- 
noons, which,  he  knew,  belonged  to  her  betrothed 's  friend. 
But  often  he  ran  up  to  her  in  the  middle  of  the  day  to  bring 
her  a  book  or  some  flowers  and  ask  her  for  a  bit  of  music. 
No  matter  how  much  she  pressed  him,  he  never  remained 
for  a  meal.  In  fact,  he  seemed  not  to  feel  quite  at  ease  in 
her  apartment.  He  would  walk  up  and  down  incessantly, 
pretty  soon  glance  at  the  clock,  and  take  leave.     At  first 


The  Song  of  Songs  509 

she  felt  hurt,  then  she  asked  him  teasingly  whether  he 
thought  he  was  in  an  enemy's  country,  and  finally  she 
adopted  the  policy  of  laissez  faire. 

Oh,  she  did  not  yet  thoroughly  understand  him.  Each 
day  laid  bare  new,  unusual  sides  of  his  being. 

He  was  still  very  young.  Not  only  in  years.  She  had 
met  many  a  cold,  blase  old  man  of  twenty-five.  His  youth 
was  deep-seated.  He  thought  passionately.  Lilly  had 
never  seen  such  fervour  expended  on  pure  thinking.  Ideas 
seemed  to  him  like  tangible  beings  with  which  he  had  to 
strive  breast  to  breast,  and  which  he  drew  to  himself  if 
they  proved  to  be  friendly  to  his  intellectual  attitude,  or 
rejected  if  hostile.  Similarly,  great  thinkers  and  creators 
of  the  past  were  either  allies  or  enemies.  He  associated 
with  them  as  with  teachers  and  comrades,  adoring  or 
despising  them,  submitting  to  their  reprimands,  or  turning 
them  into  laughing-stocks. 

His  thoughts  and  speech  were  in  a  constant  state  of  flux 
with  counter- currents  and  a  whirl  of  contradictions.  He 
was  like  a  man  forcibly  cleaving  a  way,  or  giving  merciless 
chase.  He  never  remained  indifferent  or  apathetic  to  a 
phenomenon,  spiritual  or  physical.  Everywhere  he  saw 
problems  to  be  solved  and  vexed  questions  in  regard  to 
which  he  must  take  one  side  or  the  other.  He  either  loved 
or  hated.      He  scarcely  knew  a  stage  between. 

And  Lilly  followed  him  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  pupil 
and  lover.  She  planted  each  idea  of  his  in  her  being  and 
let  it  take  root  or  die  as  chance  willed.  No  need  to  cherish 
it;  she  enjoyed  sufficient  wealth  without  it. 

He  spoke  little  of  his  personal  matters,  not  from  distrust 
or  reserve,  but  because  he  deemed  them  of  small  importance. 
Lilly  had  to  extract  jots  of  information  by  questioning. 

He  was  very  entlmsiastic  about  his  parents,  though  their 
pict^  res  seemed  to  have  faded  in  his  mind  or  lost  form. 


510  The  Song  of  Songs 

His  uncle  had  taken  their  place,  the  self-made  man  and 
globe-trotter  who  had  made  Dr.  Rennschmidt  his  heir,  and 
who  even  during  his  life-time  allowed  him  means  for  a 
modest,  yet  care-free  existence. 

Lilly  could  not  fathom  the  inner  relationship  of  the  two 
men.  Sometimes,  it  seemed.  Dr.  Rennschmidt  cherished 
a  tender  love  for  the  old  man.  Then  again  he  was  skep- 
tical, almost  bitter  in  his  judgment  of  him.  Evidently  a 
profound  difference  existed  in  their  natures,  though  they 
struggled  for  compromise. 

He  had  few  friends — chiefly  old  fellow-students — and  he 
never  paid  purely  social  visits.  As  a  result  he  could  spend 
all  his  leisure  hours  with  Lilly. 

They  sat  in  the  restaurants,  generally  the  little  Italian 
bodega,  until  the  waiter  turned  out  the  lights  over  their 
heads,  to  their  invariable  surprise — they  had  just  come. 

Or  they  bought  their  suppers  for  a  few  pennies  at  a 
delicatessen  shop,  and  escaped  the  city  dust  in  the  Tier- 
garten,  where  they  hunted  up  an  empty  bench  somewhat 
removed  from  the  public  ways,  yet  not  in  too  secluded  a 
spot.  It  was  not  until  love  couples  began  to  wander  by  in 
the  dark  like  shades  of  the  netherworld  that  they  felt 
wholly  concealed;  and  if  others  seated  themselves  on  the 
same  bench,  they  little  objected,  knowing  well  that  love 
couples  would  never  remain  beside  them  long.  They  had 
much  more  urgent  need  of  the  night  and  solitude  than 
Lilly  and  Konrad. 

While  the  light  green  leaves,  still  stemless,  gradually 
melted  into  a  dark,  shadowy,  jagged  mass,  and  the  sunset 
flames  above  merged  into  the  sombrt;  purple  of  night,  and 
the  nightingale  sang  for  them  sometimes  only  a  few  feet 
away,  they  would  sit  there  shoulder  to  shoulder  waiting 
for  the  stars  to  dot  the  twilight,  each  evening  later  and 
fewer  in  number. 


The  Song  of  Songs  511 

Their  winged  thoughts  travelled  far  into  the  realms  of 
music,  painting,  northern  sagas  and  Italian  landscapes. 
Questions  of  infinity  arose,  hesitating  and  halting,  and 
were  promptly  disposed  of  with  the  sure,  clear  discernment 
of  a  happy,  youthful  latitudinarianism.  Lilly  was  now  ac- 
curately informed  of  the  meaning  of  the  universe  and  im- 
mortality and  the  soul  and  God. 

Often  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  left  alone  to  freeze  in 
a  vast,  icy  waste  where  there  was  no  Father,  no  life  after 
death,  and  certainly  no  St.  Joseph. 

**What  you  believe,  I  suppose,  is  atheism,  isn't  it?"  she 
asked  timorously. 

**If  that's  what  you  want  to  call  it,"  he  laughed. 

So,  from  now  on  Lilly  was  an  atheist,  one  of  those  who 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Church  were  roasting  in  nethermost  hell. 
But  if  excommunication  did  not  drive  him  to  despair,  she, 
too,  could  suffer  it.  She  would  even  endure  a  Fatherless 
condition. 

Her  one  regret  was  for  St.  Joseph. 

Although  he  had  not  entered  her  thoughts  for  many  a 
day,  none  the  less  it  was  a  pity  never  again  to  be  able  to  run 
to  him  in  sorrow  or  joy,  never,  at  least,  without  having  to 
feel  ashamed  of  herself,  and  that  exactly  at  a  time  when 
she  needed  him  so  urgently,  when  her  experiences  fairly 
overwhelmed  her  with  their  force  and  number. 

She  felt  a  desire  to  be  lulled  and  calmed,  and  the  lofty 
art  that  Konrad  spread  before  her  eyes  by  no  means  soothed 
her;  rather,  it  goaded  her  on,  though,  to  be  sure,  to  fresh 
delights. 

They  went  to  what  few  concerts  the  late  season  still 
offered,  and  heard  the  Eroica  and  Brahms'  Second  Sym- 
phony and  an  unutterably  exquisite  production  by  Grieg. 

They  would  take  their  stand  in  the  cheaper  part  of  the 
house,  where  they  both  delighted  to  be,  and  listen  with  the 


512  The  Song  of  Songs 

backs  of  their  hands  touching  as  if  by  chance.  A  slight 
pressure  conveyed  the  feelings  awakened  by  some  subtle 
charm  or  expressive  bit. 

What  wonderful  hours  those  were ! 

And  what  wonderful  hours  when  she  sat  at  Konrad  's  side 
in  the  pit  (where  none  of  the  *'crew"  could  see  her).  As 
she  learned  to  know  Shakespeare's  characters  belonging  to 
every  age  and  time  and  Wagner's  luminous  fairytale 
realism,  she  understood  fully  how  infinitely  poor  her  pre- 
vious life  had  been. 

He  took  her  to  see  the  moderns  also. 

Of  all  the  plays  Rosmersholm  affected  her  most. 

She,  Lilly,  with  her  secret  guilt,  was  Rebecca.  He  in 
his  unsuspicious  purity  was  Rosmer.  His  high-pitched 
spirituality  had  an  increasingly  strong  influence  on  her,  as 
Rosmer 's  on  Rebecca.  But  if  the  filth  of  her  existence 
should  gradually  roll  from  her  upon  him,  would  she  not  be 
his  evil  demon,  his  ruination? 

The  thought  was  intolerable.  She  wept  so  bitterly  during 
the  performance  as  to  attract  general  attention,  and  Kon- 
rad offered  to  take  her  out.  She  indignantly  repudiated 
the  suggestion. 

On  going  home  she  staggered  along  the  river  side,  still 
sobbing.  He  had  chosen  that  way  because  it  was  darker 
and  quieter,  and  he  half  carried  her  on  his  arm. 

On  the  Spreebriicke  she  stopped  and  stared  down  into 
the  dark,  living  depths.  He  let  her  have  her  way,  but  when 
she  began  to  climb  up  on  the  railing — to  see  what  it  was 
like — he  forced  her  down  from  the  precarious  position. 

'  *  What 's  the  difference  ?' '  she  thought.  * '  When  he  finds 
it  all  out,  I'll  have  to  go  down  there  after  all — and  alone." 

From  that  evening  on  the  effort  to  keep  him  free  of  the 
slightest  suspicion  as  long,  as  long  as  possible  troubled 


.The  Song  of  Songs  513 

her  more  than  ever,  occupied  her  thoughts  every  moment  of 
the  day. 

Her  great  ignorance  caused  her  no  shame — ^nevertheless 
she  fought  against  it  with  all  her  might — but  she  lived  in 
constant  terror  that  the  slovenly,  cynical  tone  to  which  she 
had  gradually  habituated  herself  through  long  intercourse 
with  the  *  *  crew, '  *  might  crop  out  in  her  conversation. 

The  bit  of  carefully  cherished  rigour  and  good-breeding 
which  she  fetched  out  from  among  the  remnants  of  her 
former  spiritual  state  did  her  sluggish  being  good.  And  so 
she  acquired  some  of  that  ** grandeur'*  which  she  had  de- 
manded of  herself  at  the  beginning  of  her  relations  with 
Konrad.  This  time,  however,  it  was  not  empty  affectation, 
but  an  inner  quality,  a  natural  outcome  of  the  finest  and 
tenderest  feelings,  which  she  might  still  call  her  own. 

Much  that  had  long  dominated  her  thoughts  became  un- 
intelligible to  her,  especially  the  tendency  caught  from  her 
friends,  to  transfer  everything  entering  the  circle  of  her 
thoughts  to  the  realm  of  the  erotic. 

In  astonishment  she  beheld  world  upon  world  opening 
up  beyond  the  narrow  whirlpool  in  which  she  had  been  car- 
ried around  and  around.  Such  a  wealth  of  great  and  beau- 
tiful things  to  taste  and  enjoy  was  suddenly  spread  before 
her,  that  she  did  not  find  the  time  to  feel  ashamed  of  what 
had  been. 

But  when  she  recalled  how  she  had  once  dared  to  kiss 
him,  shame  ran  hot  through  her  body.  That  moment  of 
wild  abandon,  she  feared,  might  ever  remain  a  stain  upon 
his  image  of  her. 

Yet  there  was  not  the  slightest  indication  that  he  did  not 
think  of  her  with  the  same  respect  as  she  of  him.  This  mu-! 
tual  esteem  always  hung  between  them  like  a  gauze  veil, 
obscuring  the  beloved  man's  face  as  behind  a  mist  of 


514  The  Song  of  Songs 

mingled  happiness  and  anxiety,  though  at  the  same  time 
removing  the  sting  of  self-reproach  from  Lilly. 

They  were  never  more  to  talk  of  love.  Love  gave  way  to 
a  sweet,  fraternal,  though  somewhat  constrained  relation- 
ship. The  word  *  *  friendship ' '  was  frequently  on  their  lips. 
They  praised  its  hallowing  force  with  a  most  serious  mien, 
as  if  they  had  not  the  faintest  notion  of  what  it  meant. 

It  was  difficult,  however,  for  Lilly  to  endure  Konrad's 
bodily  proximity.  The  one  caress  he  permitted  himself 
was  to  lay  his  arm  lightly  on  her  shoulder  when  they  sat 
side  by  side.  Though  Lilly  then  longed  to  press  closer  up 
to  him  she  finally  moved  farther  away,  because  the  con- 
striction of  her  breast  mounted  by  degrees  to  veritable 
torture. 

She  never  ventured  in  the  very  slightest  to  think  that 
some  day  he  might  become  her  lover.  When  unable  to  fall 
asleep,  she  pictured  herself  drowsing  off  with  her  head 
under  his  shoulder — that  was  bliss  enough. 

Her  fancies  scarcely  ever  strayed  into  forbidden  terri- 
tory. The  chastity  of  her  maiden  days,  which  the  colonel  *s 
senile  greed  had  rudely  violated,  once  again  laid  its  merci- 
ful veil  about  her  tremulous  soul.  In  fact  it  was  all  as  i» 
the  long-forgotten  days  of  her  girlhood — the  golden  wealth 
of  thoughts  and  sensations,  the  witching  glamour  about  each 
little  object,  the  delightful  importance  of  the  tiniest  inci- 
dents, the  hopeful  disquiet  hoping  for  she  knew  not  what. 

If  only  there  had  been  a  single  human  being  in  whom  to 
confide  her  joy  and  fears,  her  happiness  would  have  been 
complete. 

The  desire  waxed  so  strong  within  her  as  to  be  nearfy 
uncontrollable.  She  had  found  herself  more  than  once  on 
the  brink  of  telling  her  secrets  to  Richard — a  quick  way  of 
ending  them. 


The  Song  of  Songs  515 

One  day  she  decided  to  visit  her  former  landlady  and  ac- 
quaint her  with  her  great  experience. 

The  old  friendship  between  Mrs.  Laue  and  Lilly  had 
never  wholly  died  down.  Though  they  saw  little  of  each 
other,  Lilly  had  kept  herself  alive  in  the  old  lady's  memory 
by  sending  messages  and  little  gifts. 

The  tenant  pro  tern,  of  the  ''best  room'*  opened  the  door 
for  Lilly. 

Mrs.  Laue,  as  always,  was  sitting  at  her  long  white  work 
table  tapping  busily  with  her  wet  finger-tips  now  on  a 
pressed  flower,  now  on  a  gluey  bit  of  paper.  She  did  not 
suffer  herself  to  be  interrupted,  not  even  when  Lilly  on 
taking  a  seat  beside  her  pushed  toward  her  the  sweets 
she  never  failed  to  bring. 

*'No,  thanks,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Laue.  **Each  bite  more 
is  one  flower  less.  People  like  myself  have  to  wait  for  a 
holiday  before  we  can  eat.  We  have  nobody  to  provide  for 
us  and  keep  us  like  a  princess.  I  'd  like  to  be  in  your  shoes 
just  one  day  before  I  lie  in  my  grave — go  out  walking  early 
in  the  morning — with  nothing  to  do  but  feed  a  couple  of 
goldfish." 

**As  if  that  were  happiness,"  sighed  Lilly. 

**Do  you  mean  to  complain  of  your  lot?"  cried  Mrs.  Laue 
indignantly.  "  If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  'd  thank  the  Lord 
every  hour  of  the  day  for  having  sent  me  such  a  friend." 

**Do  you  think  that  would  satisfy  all  your  hopes?" 

**\Vhy,  what  else  do  you  want?"  Mrs.  Laue — ceaselessly 
tapping — rebuked  her.  *'He  can't  marry  you  any  more — 
that's  out  of  the  question.  Besides  marriage  would  be 
nasty  after  all  you've  gone  through.  But  listen  to  me.  Be 
careful!  If  you  always  behave  yourself  nicely,  he  will 
make  you  an  allowance,  and  you'll  have  something  to  live 
on  all  your  life." 


516  The  Song  of  Songs 

**So,  I'm  just  to  aim  for  an  old  age  pension?" 

*'Well,  what  else?'' 

**I  can  conceive  of  many  other  objects  in  life.'* 

**"What?  Work?  Try  it.  See  what  it's  like  after 
you've  been  nothing  but  emotions  for  years.  Or  take  an- 
other lover?  Then  you'd  be  sure  of  a  fine  time.  Let  me 
tell  you  one  thing,  child;  never  for  a  single  instant  think 
of  another  man.  If  you  were  to  do  that,  you'd  deserve  to 
paste  flowers  like  me — sixteen  hours  a  day — until  you  die. ' ' 

While  incessantly  pasting  one  flower  after  the  other,  she 
poured  out  a  volume  of  well-intentioned  admonitions. 

Lilly  rose  shivering. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  hoped  for  from  that  quar- 
ter. She  looked  about  her  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  es- 
trangement. 

* '  I  '11  never  come  back  here  again, ' '  she  thought. 

The  next  morning  the  uneasy  desire  to  open  up  her  heart 
and  obtain  counsel  again  awoke,  even  stronger  and  more 
tormenting  than  before.  Her  friend  Jula  occurred  to 
Lilly. 

To  be  sure,  the  clever,  hot-blooded  little  woman  had  held 
herself  aloof  from  the  crew's  jaunts.  Her  friends  had  not 
the  least  idea  of  what  she  was  doing,  and  her  red-head, 
when  appealed  to,  became  reticent.  But  Lilly  felt  sure 
Mrs.  Jula  would  not  withhold  the  bit  of  comprehending 
sympathy  she  needed. 

It  took  Lilly  a  long  time  to  find  her. 

The  coquettish  yellow  silk  nest  her  red-head  had  fixed  up 
for  her  near  the  ''Linden"  was  empty. 

Mrs.  Jula  had  migrated  to  a  suburb,  the  porter  informed 
Lilly.  She  had  thought  the  neighbourhood  too  dangerous; 
which  made  no  sense,  because  the  street  was  never  empty, 
day  or  night. 


The  Song  of  Songs  517 

Lilly  smiled.  The  porter  gave  her  the  address,  and  she 
drove  out  to  Mrs.  Jula. 

In  a  little  bosky  comer  where  the  poets  and  philosophers 
dwell,  Lilly  found  a  very  sober  little  house,  brimful  of 
books  and  manuscripts  and  busts  of  eminent  men. 

Mrs.  Jula  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  great  change. 
She  no  longer  wore  her  curly  hair  in  a  disorderly  pompa- 
dour about  her  forehead,  but  smoothly  parted  and  drawn 
down  over  her  ears.  This  gave  her  a  disquieting  touch  of 
virtuousness,  although  that  way  of  wearing  the  hair  was 
just  then  the  height  of  fashion  in  the  very  world  in  which 
virtue  for  esthetic  reasons  has  little  value. 

Though  she  came  to  meet  Lilly,  as  always,  with  out- 
stretched arms,  her  cordiality  seemed  not  wholly  genuine; 
and  though  she  beamed  with  delight  at  seeing  her  friend 
again,  her  expression  was  somewhat  distraught,  as  if  she 
were  holding  much  in  reserve. 

Without  asking  Lilly  about  herself  or  paying  any  atten- 
tion to  her  appearance,  Mrs.  Jula  burst  into  an  account  of 
her  own  affairs. 

**Youll  be  tremendously  surprised,  but  I  can't  help  it,'* 
she  said.  *'I  never  kept  my  little  scruples  of  conscience  a 
secret  from  you — they  were  really  superfluous — my  sins 
had  never  been  so  dreadful — " 

**Hm,  hm,"  thought  Lilly. 

**So  you  shall  be  the  first  of  our  former  circle — " 

*  *  Former  ? ' '  thought  Lilly. 

** — to  learn  of  my  return  to  a  decent  existence.  Well, 
not  to  beat  about  the  bush,  I  'm  going  to  get  married. ' ' 

**Your  red-head?"  asked  Lilly,  happy  and  sympa^ 
thetic. 

**Well,  not  exactly."  Mrs.  Jula  regarded  her  finger-tipa 
with  a  condescending  smile.  *'My  red-head  has  given  me 
his  blessings,  but  that  ends  his  role." 


518  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Then  who  is  he?"  asked  Lilly,  struggling  to  overcome 
her  bewilderment. 

Now  Mrs.  Jnla  hung  back  a  bit  after  all. 

*'You  see,  it's  a  long  story,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  **To 
understand  it  thoroughly  you'd  have  to  know  more  of  the 
circumstances  of  the  past  two  years  of  my  life.  Did  you 
ever  happen  to  hear  of  an  authoress  by  the  name  of  Clarissa 
vom  Winkle?" 

Lilly  recalled  having  seen  the  name  in  puritanic  family 
sheets,  which  she  had  looked  through  in  cafes  and  confec- 
tionery shops. 

**Now  listen:  that  Clarissa  vom  Winkle,  who  won  a  very 
acceptable  reputation  for  championing  the  cause  of  simple, 
bourgeois  morality  as  against  the  pernicious  new-fashioned 
ideas  of  love — that  Clarissa  vom  Winkle  am  I." 

Lilly  was  too  strongly  under  the  spell  of  her  own  fate 
properly  to  appreciate  the  humour  of  Mrs.  Jula's  avowal. 
Just  a  glimmering  suspicion  dawned  upon  her  mind  of  the 
monstrous  farce  we  human  beings  figure  in  at  life 's  bidding. 

''Now  on  that  account  you're  not  to  think  me  a  convert 
or  a  bigot  or  something  of  the  sort,"  Mrs.  Jula  continued 
with  a  certain  little  air  of  dignity,  which  became  her  as 
well  as  her  quondam  cordial  cynicism.  ' '  There  never  was  a 
special  Day  of  Damascus  in  my  life.  I've  always  had,  as 
it  were,  two  souls  in  my  breast;  the  one  which — "  she  hesi- 
tated a  moment — ''well,  which  you  know;  and  another 
which  craves  self-restraint  and  white  damask  and  so  on. 
That's  the  reason  your  unsuspicious  loyalty  always  im- 
pressed me  so,  my  dear.  You  probably  recollect  that  I 
urged  you  to  cling  to  your  loyalty  through  thick  and  thin, 
because — you  can't  deny  it — it's  the  crown  of  a  woman's 
life.     That's  just  what  I  said.     Do  you  remember?" 

Lilly  was  unable  to  recall  such  sentiments,  but  she  did 
recall  many  others  scarcely  harmonising  with  them.     She 


The  Song  of  Songs  519 

began  to  feel  quite  uneasy.  Her  friend  *s  new  conception 
of  life  seemed  ill  adapted  for  a  source  of  peace  to  her  in  the 
joyful  stress  that  had  led  her  to  seek  sympathy  with  Mrs. 
Jula. 

**Well,  to  continue/*  said  the  little  lady.  **I  was  always 
able  to  sell  my  essays  and  novels  quickly,  especially  if  I 
took  them  to  the  editors  myself,  and  I  found  I  was  on  the 
road  to  accumulating  a  tidy  capital.  My  red-head  became 
little  more  than  an  ornament.  That's  the  beautiful  thing 
about  virtue.  For  the  person  who  understands  it,  it  is 
much  more  lucrative  than  sin.**  She  ran  her  little  red 
tongue  over  her  lips  in  her  knowing  way,  but  maintained 
a  perfectly  demure  face.  **And  then  it  was  in  disposing 
of  my  works  that  I  met  my  husband  to  be.  You  know — 
I'm  at  last  divorced  from  that  old  horror  up  there.  This 
one  is  the  editor  of  a  new  magazine  for  women.  It  stands 
for  quiet  domesticity  and  already  has  very  good  advertise- 
ments. He's  a  man  of  great  intellectual  gifts,  and  very 
firm  moral  principles,  which,  I  suppose  you  've  noticed,  have 
not  remained  without  influence  on  me." 

She  made  a  little  double  chin  and  folded  her  hands  in  her 
lap. 

*'And  how  did  you  manage  to  separate  from — ^your  old 
friend?"  asked  Lilly,  from  whase  mind  all  these  curious 
facts  had  almost  driven  her  own  concerns. 

** Separate?  What  are  you  thinking  of?**  rejoined  Mrs. 
Jula,  beaming  again  with  sunny  foolishness.  *'I  wouldn*t 
be  as  heartless  as  all  that.  Even  if  I  did  say  his  role  had 
ended,  you're  not  to  take  it  so  literally.  What's  the  poor 
dyspeptic  fellow  to  do  if  I  refuse  to  set  a  place  for  him  at 
my  table  now  and  then?  Why  do  you  look  so  surprised, 
Lilly  ?  Something  of  the  sort  can  always  be  managed.  In 
the  first  place,  I  swore  to  my  betrothed  that  my  red-head 
had  never  been  more  to  me  than  a  brotherly  friend.    All 


520  The  Song  of  Songs 

of  US  women  swear  such  things  and  don't  even  blush." 

Lilly  nodded  thoughtfully.  That  evening,  had  Konrad 
demanded  it,  she  would  have  sworn  an  oath  without  a  mo- 
ment's  hesitation. 

**In  the  second  place — ^I'm  telling  you  this  in  confidence 
— he  contributed  a  considerable  sum  toward  establishing  the 
magazine.  So  the  two  gentlemen  are  partners.  I  arranged 
matters  that  way  intentionally,  because  it  seemed  to  me  the 
best  guarantee  of  a  continuance  of  all-around  friendly  re- 
lations. Don 't  make  such  large  eyes,  dearie.  Life  is  made 
up  of  compromises.  Every  bird  feathers  its  nest. 
And  if  you  think  I'm  afraid  of  disclosures,  I  shrug  my 
shoulders.  Tragedy  is  a  matter  of  taste.  I  don't  like  it. 
So  it  doesn't  exist  for  me.  I  always  say  to  myself:  you 
must  wear  a  smile  on  your  brow,  but  beneath  the  smile 
your  brow  must  be  of  iron. ' ' 

Lilly  experienced  a  sickish  sensation. 

**If  that's  the  price  to  pay  for  uprooting  tragedy  from 
one 's  life, ' '  she  thought,  * '  then  I  'd  rather  have  unhappiness 
— I  can  swallow  it — than  all  this  happiness." 

She  rose. 

No  matter  how  high  above  her  this  woman  towered  in 
force  of  intellect  and  will,  no  matter  how  firmly  she  stood 
on  the  ground  of  virtuous  life,  she  was  no  longer  suited  to 
be  Lilly's  friend. 

* '  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  never  be  mistaken  in  your  con- 
fidence, ' '  said  Lilly. 

Mrs.  Jula  threw  up  her  hand  contemptuously. 

**Bah,"  she  said,  ^^ those  men!  A  man  who  knows  the 
world  is  a  woman  eater,  and  your  *pure'  man  is  a  simple^ 
ton.     I  can  always  get  along  with  both  classes. ' ' 

** There  may  be  a  third  class,"  said  Lilly,  irritated,  as  if 
Konrad  had  been  insulted. 


The  Song  of  Songs  521 

** Possibly/'  rejoined  Mrs.  Jula,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
**IVe  never  come  across  it/'  Then  putting  both  hands  on 
Lilly's  waist:  *'Tell  me,  child,  perfectly  frankly:  if  you 
look  at  me  this  way  and  compare  me  with  what  I  used  to 
be,  does  it  seem  to  you  that  I'm  posing?" 

**To  be  quite  candid,"  Lilly  admitted,  **it  seemed  to 
me  so  at  first. " 

Mrs.  Jula  sighed. 

**It's  very  hard  to  adapt  your  figure  to  a  dress  that 
wasn't  made  for  you.  Everybody  has  a  certain  moral  am- 
bition, the  so-called  non-moral  person  most  of  all.  But 
there 's  one  thing  I  'd  love  to  know :  what  is  really  the  more 
valuable  in  me,  my  former  sinning  or  my  present  virtue." 

She  smiled  up  at  Lilly  with  a  melancholy  yet  sly  expres- 
sion. 

This  time  Lilly  did  not  respond.  Beyond  that  com- 
placent little  scatterbrain  her  own  happiness  rose  lofty  and 
threatening  as  a  storm-cloud. 

When  out  on  the  street  the  feeling  of  restless  isolation 
took  stronger  hold  of  her  than  ever.  Yet  she  was  glad  she 
had  not  spoken.  She  knew  that  if  she  had  held  up  her  be- 
loved's picture  to  Mrs.  Jula's  sly  understanding,  it  would 
have  come  back  to  her  desecrated. 

Now  there  was  actually  not  a  soul  to  whom  she  could 
pour  out  her  heart. 

A  few  days  later  in  glancing  over  the  paper,  as  was  her 
daily  habit,  her  eyes  were  caught  by  a  sentence  which  sud- 
denly sent  a  ray  of  light  into  her  soul:  *'St.  Joseph's 
Chapel — Miillerstrasse — evening  services, ' '  and  so  on. 

Then  her  old,  long-forgotten  friend  was  still  alive.  He 
even  possessed  his  own  church  here  in  cold,  heretical  Berlin. 

In  all  the  years  she  had  been  in  Berlin  she  had  not  en- 
tered a  church.    After  having  seated  herself  among  the 


522  The  Song  of  Songs 

Protestants  at  Miss  von  Schwertf eger 's  advice,  she  had  felt 
she  was  a  renegade,  and  had  not  ventured  to  seek  solace  in 
religion. 

And  now  she  was  an  atheist. 

But  the  name  St.  Joseph  in  the  paper  warmed  her  heart 
She  felt  as  one  who  has  wandered  long  in  foreign  lands  and 
suddenly  among  a  throng  of  strangers  beholds  a  dear  face 
from  home. 

Now  she  knew  to  whom  to  turn  without  fear  of  having  to 
depart  misunderstood  and  unheard.  Even  if  the  great 
scholars  had  done  away  with  him  a  thousand  times,  he  still 
existed  for  her  stupid,  surcharged  heart,  ready  to  receive 
the  confession  of  her  happiness. 

Miillerstrasse  was  somewhere  on  the  extreme  north  side, 
'*  somewhere  around  Franz- Josephs-Land,  * '  her  green 
grocer,  to  whom  she  had  applied,  informed  her. 

She  went  through  a  maze  of  streets,  from  one  electric 
tram  to  another — past  the  Reichtags  buildings,  the  Lessing 
theatre,  and  the  Stettin  station — along  the  endless  chausse. 
Beyond  the  Weddingplatz,  which  the  Berlinese  consider 
the  end  of  the  world,  was  where  Miillerstrasse  began. 

Nobody  had  the  slightest  notion  of  where  a  St.  Joseph's 
chapel  was,  not  even  dwellers  in  the  immediate  vicinity. 
Finally  somebody  remembered  seeing  **a  Catholic  some- 
thing or  other,**  and  Lilly  at  last  found  the  object  of  her 
search. 

A  low  frame  structure  which  might  have  been  tak^i  for 
a  barn,  and  some  blossoming  trees  set  between  towering 
tenements. 

The  side  door  was  open.  Pine  wreaths  said  **  Welcome." 
Lilly  saw  a  simple  white  hall  permeated  with  the  sepulchral 
smell  of  incense,  laurel,  and  freshly  cut  pine,  and  in  the 
background  a  niche  decorated  to  resemble  the  starry 
heavens.     Beyond  the  wooden  balustrade  separating  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  523 

pictureless  shrine  of  the  high  altar  from  the  hall,  rose  two 
glorious  palms.  The  low  rumble  of  an  organ  came  from 
the  choir.  The  organist  had  probably  stayed  after  the 
funeral  to  dream  a  bit. 

^  In  suspense  Lilly 's  glance  glided  along  the  walls  in  search 
of  her  saint's  abiding  place.  Was  he  smiling  and  holding 
up  his  finger  here,  too,  with  the  same  benevolent,  threaten- 
ing manner  as  the  good  old  uncle  in  St.  Anne 's  ? 

There  was  no  place  for  side  altars.  The  space  was  com- 
pletely filled  with  benches.  But  that  large  picture  there  in 
the  garish  frame,  with  a  console-table  beneath  covered  with 
dusty  bouquets — 

She  saw  it — and  started  in  terror. 

Her  saint,  her  dear,  beloved  saint,  was  simply  ridiculous. 

He  had  a  sharp-nosed,  wax-doll  face  with  a  golden  yellow 
beard  and  eyes  cast  down  in  pious  modesty,  and  he  was 
smiling  mawkishly.  The  infant  Jesus  clad  in  pink 
triumphed  on  his  left  arm,  while  his  right  arm  gently 
clasped  a  spray  of  lilies. 

Lilly's  disgust  turned  into  pity. 

How  remote,  how  inconceivably  remote,  was  that  world 
in  which  one  implored  St.  Josephs  for  signs  of  favour. 

Could  it  be  that  her  good,  true  monitor  in  St.  Anne's 
had  been  just  as  comical? 

Perish  the  thought.  He  should  not  be,  he  must  not  be  so 
absurd.  There  must  be  one  place  to  which  one's  memory 
could  travel  homeward  in  hours  of  pleasant  mourning. 

The  organ  was  playing  the  prelude  of  a  beautiful  mass 
by  Scarlatti,  which  Lilly  well  knew  from  of  old.  Gradually 
she  began  to  feel  at  ease. 

She  kneeled  on  the  last  bench,  closed  her  eyes,  and  tried 
to  imagine  that  instead  of  that  blond  caricature,  her  old 
friend  was  looking  down  upon  her. 

A  saying  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  occurred  to  her,  wiiich 


524  The  Song  of  Songs 

she  remembered  from  her  Sunday  school  lessons:  *'God 
has  granted  other  saints  the  power  to  help  us  in  certain 
circumstances;  to  St.  Joseph  he  has  granted  the  power  to 
help  us  whatever  our  need/' 

Once  he  had  been  so  powerful  in  her  life. 

She  spoke  to  him  across  the  hundreds  of  miles  and  hun- 
dreds of  years  that  separated  her  from  the  altar  in  St. 
Anne 's — the  last  time  on  earth,  she  was  fully  aware.  There 
was  no  longer  place  in  her  soul  for  such  childishness.  And 
just  because  it  was  her  farewell,  she  told  him  without 
reserve  of  her  great  experience — ^how  infinitely  happy  she 
now  was — how  everything  that  had  lain  dead  within  her 
blossomed  forth  with  fresh  life — and  how  the  entire  uni- 
verse was  one  great  symphony  of  joy. 

And  she  told  him  of  the  monstrous  deception  she  was 
practising,  and  her  fear  of  discovery — and  the  sweet,  im- 
patient tremour  for  which  there  could  be  no  image  or  name. 

Then  she  told  him  she  no  longer  believed  in  him  in  the 
least — she  had  become  an  ** atheist." 

Then,  reconciled,  she  laid  the  carnations  she  had  brought 
along  for  the  poor  out-of-the-way  saint  among  the  dusty 
bouquets  and  left  with  lightened  heart,  smiling  at  the 
spring  which  smiled  upon  her. 

Beside  this  Lilly,  whom  the  stormy  wind  of  her  new  life 
bore  aloft  to  the  heavens  far  above  all  earthly  hindrances,  a 
second  Lilly  lived,  who  spent  every  other  evening  with  her 
old  friends,  and  was  the  marvel  of  her  circle,  because  of  her 
triumphant  mood,  her  merry  wit,  the  youthful  liveliness  of 
an  awakening  intellect. 

When  Richard  came  for  his  afternoon  tea,  he  met  with 
daily  surprises.  In  place  of  the  dragging  gloom,  which  had 
long  coloured  her  days,  he  found  sprightliness  and  activity, 
a.  creature  of  novelties,  never  still  an  instant. 


The  Song  of  Songs  525 

Though  now  and  then  abashed  at  his  inability  to  keep 
pace  with  her,  he  gladly  accustomed  himself  to  this  side  of 
her  being,  and  praised  the  magical  qualities  of  the 
haematogen  which  the  physician  had  prescribed  that  spring 
instead  of  the  usual  iron. 

The  same  scene  was  enacted  each  evening  that 
Richard  wanted  to  take  Lilly  out.  At  first  she  pleaded  a 
cold  or  said  she  was  not  in  the  mood  for  meeting  people. 
But  once  she  had  consented  and  was  in  the  swing,  she 
played  with  her  admirers  as  with  puppies,  and  awed  the 
ladies  by  telling  them  things  to  their  faces.  Sometimes,  to 
be  sure,  she  sat  as  formerly,  absorbed  in  dreamy  silence, 
though  now,  if  anyone  attempted  to  liven  her  up,  she  no 
longer  blushed  and  suffered  herself  to  be  teased  without  an 
attempt  at  self-defence.  She  paid  back  every  intruder  with 
such  prompt,  haughty  satire  that  the  men  soon  found  it 
wiser  to  leave  her  to  herself. 

In  all  this  time  she  drank  herself  into  a  state  of  exalta- 
tion only  once,  and  that  on  the  day  on  which — at  last! — • 
she  decided  to  tell  Richard  of  the  existence  of  her  new 
friend. 

She  had  wrestled  with  herself  for  two  months.  Some- 
time or  other  it  had  to  be,  she  knew ;  for  what  if  they  were 
seen  together!  But  since  she  could  not  decide  in  what 
form  to  clothe  the  avowal,  she  had  deferred  it  from  day 
to  day. 

Chance  helped  her  out  of  the  dilemma.  One  day  Rich- 
ard, in  order  to  obtain  her  judgment,  brought  along  some 
sketches  of  vases  which  had  been  submitted  to  him  for  pur- 
chase. On  leaving  he  forgot  to  take  them  along.  Konrad 
happened  to  see  them,  and  in  a  few  rapid  strokes  drew  the 
outline  which  corresponded  to  the  original  draught,  and 
which  the  artist  in  developing  the  plan  had  failed  to 
insert. 


526  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  next  day  when  Richard  saw  the  work  he  looked  at 
Lilly  in  astonishment.  The  corrections  were  splendid — 
who  had  made  them? 

Lilly,  still  suffering  from  the  intimidation  induced  by 
her  bungled  work  on  the  transparencies,  did  not  dare  to 
tell  him  she  herself  had.     So  taking  heart  she  said: 

"My  teacher,  who's  giving  me  lessons  in  the  history  of 
art.'' 

*' Since  when,  I'd  like  to  know?"  asked  Richard,  his  eyes 
growing  round  and  severe. 

In  her  great  embarrassment  she  took  to  scolding  as  best 
—or  as  worst — she  knew  how. 

**Do  you  think  I  can  stand  such  a  dull,  inane,  idle  ex- 
istence? Do  you  think  it's  a  crime  for  an  unoccupied 
young  woman  to  strive  for  a  bit  of  culture?  Dont  you 
think  I'd  be  a  better  friend  if  I  could  keep  pace  with  you 
and  other  clever  people  than  if  I  go  to  my  ruin  jabbering 
a  lot  of  nonsense  and  dressing  myself  up  for  show  and  be- 
having like  any  silly  thing  ? ' ' 

The  turn  about  ** clever  people"  flattered  him. 

**A11  very  well  and  good,"  he  replied  more  mildly,  **but 
why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?" 

She  concocted  a  long  story. 

About  three  months  before  she  had  read  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  Lokalanzeiger  in  which  a  young  scholar  offered 
his  services  to  gentlemen  and  ladies  possessed  of  a  thirst 
for  knowledge.  She  wrote  to  the  scholar,  he  came,  and 
the  lessons  began.  Pupil  and  teacher  had  grown  to  be 
friends.  Though  their  friendship,  of  course,  was  of  a 
purely  ideal  nature,  she  dreaded  awakening  Richard's 
jealousy;  so  she  had  decided  not  to  tell  him  until  time 
should  prove  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  the  absolute 
purity  of  her  endeavours. 


The  Song  of  Songs  527 

He  wrinkled  his  forehead,  and  a  cunning  grin,  inexpli- 
cable to  Lilly,  played  about  his  mouth. 

' '  So  your  friend 's  a  young  scholar  ? "  he  asked.  His  eyes 
twinkled,  and  he  looked  at  her  sidewise,  his  head  inclined 
entirely  to  the  left. 

*'Yes.'^ 

"He's  going  to  be  Privatdozent,  I  suppose?'* 

**He's  not  quite  certain,  but  he  probably  will." 

'*And  I  suppose  he's  highly  intellectual  and  scintillat- 
ing and  superior?" 

She  turned  her  eyes  heavenward. 

*'I've  never  in  my  life  met  a  man  who — "  She  stopped 
in  fright.  It  was  scarcely  the  better  part  of  wisdom  to  give 
reins  to  her  enthusiasm. 

*'Hm,  hm,"  he  said,  as  one  who  finds  long  harboured 
suspicions  confirmed.  His  face  was  quite  red,  and  he 
gnawed  the  ends  of  his  moustache. 

**I  knew  it!"  cried  Lilly.     *'You're  jealous  after  all." 

She  felt  as  if  a  bitter  injustice  were  being  done  her. 

He  said  nothing  more,  and  left  lowering. 

An  hour  later  a  package  from  Messrs.  Liebert  & 
Dehnicke  was  left  at  the  door. 

Lilly  opened  it  and  found  it  contained  a  man's  suit, 
which  she  recognised  as  one  Eichard  had  frequently  worn 
the  previous  summer. 

A  letter  accompanied  the  package. 

** Dearest  Lilly:— 

As  I  promised  you  that  time,  I  shall  always  be  ready 
to  come  to  the  assistance  of  your  affinities  with  old  clothes. 
To  further  their  progress  I  shall  also  be  glad  to  provide 
them  with  old  boots. 

You  see  how  jealous  I  am. 

Your  Richard." 


528  The  Song  of  Songs 

In  the  exuberance  of  her  delight  Lilly  drank  to  excess 
that  evening.  Never — ^not  even  when  she  had  danced  for 
Dr.  Salmoni — had  she  allowed  her  imitative  faculties  such 
full  play.     She  was  in  a  state  of  mad  self-abandon. 

In  conclusion  she  danced  on  the  tops  of  the  tables  set 
close  together,  a  wild  Salome  dance,  which  had  just  then 
come  into  fashion. 

Between  her  clenched  teeth  she  zimmed  strange  oriental 
melodies. 

* '  What 's  that  she 's  mumbling  ?  * '  the  spectators  asked. 

Later  they  put  the  question  to  her. 

But  she  had  lost  her  senses.    She  was  unconscious. 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  peaceful  golden  light  of  a  Sunday  morning  in  June 
pierced  the  railroad  station  *s  sooty  glass  roof. 

Such  an  amount  of  blush  brightness  was  gathered  under 
the  three  great  arches  where  they  led  into  the  open,  that 
as  the  train  glided  beneath  them  you  thought  you  were 
dipping  into  a  sunny  sea. 

The  gay  ribbons  of  the  dressed-up  girls  fluttered  against 
the  decent  Sunday  suits  of  the  attentive  youths,  each  of 
whom  felt  himself  to  be  an  indispensable  master  of  cere- 
monies. 

There  were  athletic  clubs  and  rowing  clubs  and  smok- 
ing clubs  and  singing  societies,  and  an  entire  department 
store. 

In  the  midst  of  the  jolly,  noisy  throng  a  quiet,  happy 
couple  walked  along  looking  about  cautiously  and  keeping 
at  a  certain  distance  from  each  other,  so  that  nobody  could 
be  sure  whether  or  not  they  belonged  together.  They  made 
for  one  of  the  front  coaches. 

Lilly  walked  ahead.  Again  she  saw  the  faces  of  persons 
coming  toward  her  grow  rigid  with  a  sort  of  solemn  tense- 
ness— a  mute  homage  which  she  well  knew,  but  which  she 
had  never  accepted  with  so  much  joy  as  then,  since  the 
one  man  in  the  world  whom  she  wanted  to  please  was 
witnessing  her  triumph. 

In  his  honour  she  had  clad  herself  completely  in  festive 
white — a  linen  crash  suit,  an  embroidered  linen  blouse,  and 
a  white  straw  hat  with  a  white  veil  about  it.    She  wore 

529 


530  The  Song  of  Songs 

the  hat  low  on  her  forehead,  and  beneath  it  her  shining 
brown  hair  rolled  in  large  waves.  She  carried  a  white 
zephyr  shawl  on  her  arm  against  the  evening  coolness, 
since  they  had  arranged  not  to  try  to  catch  a  certain  train 
home,  but  remain  in  the  country  until  they  wearied. 

They  sat  in  opposite  comers  of  the  third-class  compart- 
ment smiling  slyly  and  saying  not  a  word. 

They  were  riding  into  the  unknown. 

"Follow  me,"  he  had  said.  "I'll  give  you  a  surprise. 
We  will  go  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  I  myself  am  by  no 
means  certain  of  my  goal.  Otherwise  it  wouldn't  be  a 
voyage  of  discovery. ' ' 

The  feeling  of  giving  herself  up  without  question  was 
new  and  delicious. 

About  an  hour  must  have  passed  and  the  compartment 
had  long  been  empty,  when  he  nodded  to  her  to  get  out. 

"Where  are  we?" 

"What  difference  does  it  make  where  we  areT' 

Oh,  he  was  right!  Lilly  never  so  much  as  glanced  at 
the  name  of  the  station. 

They  walked  along  the  uneven  street  of  a  bare  little 
town.  The  sunshine  lay  on  the  yellow  house  fronts  like  a 
soporific.  The  shop  doors  were  locked  and  sheets  were 
stretched  across  the  lower  halves  of  the  display  windows 
to  proclaim  the  Sunday. 

Organ  tones  came  from  around  the  street  corners  like  a 
dull  breeze.  A  turkey  cock  strutted  up  from  out  of  a 
gateway  and  gobbled  at  them — ^no  more  organ  tones. 

The  houses  grew  less  frequent.  From  the  fields  came  a 
whiff  of  ripening  grain,  but  the  heavy  fragrance  of  the 
yellow  lupine  overwhelmed  it.  Meadows  of  clover  spread 
their  white-dotted  rugs,  and  in  the  background  black  firs 
rose  from  the  summits  of  sand-coloured  hills. 

They   stepped   merrily   along   the   unshaded   road,    on 


The  Song  of  Songs  531 

which  little  eddies  of  silvery  white  dust  chased  ahead  of 
them. 

Konrad  knew  and  saw  everything — how  the  falcon  flap- 
ping its  wings  stood  still  in  the  air — ^how  the  wild  rabbit 
lifting  its  little  white  rump  leapt  away  in  droll  haste — 
every  minute  there  was  something  new. 

Since  the  days  at  Lischnitz  Lilly  had  never  walked  out 
in  the  blossoming  spring. 

"Oh,  if  I  had  had  a  guide  like  him/*  she  thought,  **it 
would  all  have  been  so  different.'' 

In  the  pine  woods,  which  gave  out  a  hot  breath,  a 
squirrel  ran  past  them  almost  over  their  feet,  shot  up  a 
tree  trunk,  and  at  about  a  man's  height  from  the  ground 
stood  still  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

Lilly  and  Konrad  looked  at  each  other  mindful  of  the 
moment  they  had  first  met. 

Lilly  moved  up  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  squirrel,  but 
it  did  not  budge. 

**I  feel  as  if  we  were  enchanted,"  she  said.  **If  it  were 
to  speak  to  us,  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised.'* 

Heaving  a  sigh  of  bliss  she  threw  herself  on  the  grey, 
crackling  moss. 

Konrad  followed  her  example.  Shading  their  eyes  with 
their  hands  they  lay  on  their  backs  and  blinked  up  at  the 
sun  which  flickered  down  on  them  through  the  sparse  fir 
boughs. 

They  had  both  nearly  forgotten  the  squirrel's  presence, 
when  a  sudden  chip  sounded  close  over  their  heads.  They 
looked  up  and  saw  the  little  fellow  scampering  up  the 
trunk.  Until  that  moment  he  had  stared  at  them  too 
frightened  to  stir. 

** There  you  have  it,"  said  Konrad,  "if  we  shoot  our 
human  language  at  them,  they'll  take  good  care  not  to 
speak  to  us." 


532  The  Song  of  Songs 

''We're  enchanted  at  any  rate/'  laughed  Lilly.  '*I  at 
least  have  never  in  my  life  been  stretched  out  so  com- 
fortably and  had  the  sun  shine  on  me  so.     Have  youT' 

'*0h  yes,"  he  rejoined.  **I  recall  one  time  at  least  quite 
definitely. ' ' 

''How?  When?''  Lilly  inquired,  all  jealousy.  She 
was  jealous  of  every  happy  moment  in  his  life  which  she 
had  not  created  for  him. 

' '  Oh,  there 's  not  much  to  tell.  It  was  in  Kavello,  a  rocky 
nest  not  far  from  Amaffi,  high  over  the  sea.  A  perfect 
fairyland.  Full  of  old,  Moorish  palaces,  partly  inhabited, 
partly  in  ruins.  There  are  marble  courtyards  with  trel- 
lised  iron  railings,  ruined  fountains  with  myrtle  and  laurel 
growing  around  in  rank  profusion  and  little  white  climb- 
ing roses  covering  everything.  There  was  one  place  in 
particular  which  I  would  have  given  my  life  to  be  able 
to  enter.  It  had  a  small,  mysterious  gallery  which  stood 
out  against  the  deep  blue  sky  like  a  silver  web.  An  iron 
gate  as  high  as  a  house  separated  me  from  that  gallery. 
Since  there  was  nobody  about  to  see  the  street  Arab  esca- 
pade— only  a  few  peasant  labourers  in  the  olive  planta- 
tions live  there — I  actually  climbed  over  that  gate  one 
day." 

' '  Glorious ! ' '  cried  Lilly. 

"Yes,  I  got  in.  After  making  a  professional  inspection 
of  the  beautiful,  strange  motifs,  I  lay  a  long  time  on  the 
warm  stone  steps,  and  let  the  sun  shine  down  on  me  just  as 
we  are  doing  now  under  these  Brandenburg  firs.  And — 
think  of  it!  the  little  bluish-green  lizards  that  you  love  so 
came  gliding  up  slowly,  cautiously,  and  ran  straight  over 
me." 

' '  Oh,  heavenly ! '  *  said  Lilly  rapturously. 

"Lying  there  that  way  with  the  old  marble  fountain 
making  music  in  my  ears,  I  fell  asleep — a  thing  one  had 


The  Song  of  Songs  533 

better  not  indulge  in,  because  one  may  get  a  sunstroke 
that  way  even  in  midwinter.  I'm  sure  I  should  have,  if 
some  tourists  hadn't  come  along  and  thrown  sticks  and 
stones  at  me.  When  I  awoke  I  felt  dizzy  and  I  saw  red. 
I  couldn't  dream  of  climbing  over  the  gate  again.  The 
tourists  had  to  fetch  the  gate  key  from  the  sindaco,  and  to 
cap  the  climax  I  had  to  appear  before  him  for  a  hearing — 
Who  are  you?  Don't  you  know  trespassing  in  the  garden 
is  forbidden?  But  thank  the  Lord,  he  didn't  send  me  to 
jail,  because  all  the  people  tapped  their  heads  and  said: 
'e  mattOy  he's  crazy.'  " 

**No  harm,"  laughed  Lilly.  **You  got  what  you 
wanted;  you  entered  the  forbidden  garden.  Other  people 
have  to  be  content  with  standing  outside  the  railing." 

**A  pleasure  we  shall  probably  enjoy  to-day,"  he  ob- 
served, and  Lilly  choked  down  her  curiosity. 

*^At  any  rate,"  he  continued,  **it  doesn't  hurt  if  one 
practices  standing  outside  now  and  then.  Heaven  knows, 
the  very  happiness  toward  which  you  crane  your  neck 
usually  is  a  forbidden  garden." 

Lilly  looked  at  him. 

What  did  he  mean  by  that? 

Their  eyes  met  in  shy  understanding. 

That  hopeful  disquiet,  which  she  did  not  venture  to  call 
by  its  name,  quivered  through  her  like  a  fit  of  fever. 

**Come,"  she  said,  jumping  to  her  feet  and  hurrying  on 
without  looking  back  at  him. 

The  woods  grew  thinner.  They  now  walked  along  a 
thicketed  swamp  where  birches  gaily  shot  up  their  slender 
white  columns  from  mossy  pediments. 

The  warm  noon  air  vibrated  in  wavelets.  From  some- 
where came  the  sound  of  a  church  bell,  but  no  farmyard 
was  visible  far  or  near,  and  suddenly  they  struck  a  cross- 
road, and  did  not  know  which  way  to  go. 


534  The  Song  of  Songs 

"We  are  called  upon  to  decide,"  he  said,  and  listened  a 
while  in  the  direction  from  which  the  sound  of  the  bell 
came.     Then  he  turned  to  the  right. 

'*I  wish,"  he  went  on,  "I  wish  there  were  a  bell  to  sound 
the  way  for  me  in  life." 

Then  he  told  her  he  was  standing  at  a  cross-road.  He 
had  been  offered  a  position,  which  in  view  of  his  youth  was 
not  of  slight  importance.  But  before  accepting  it,  he  had 
to  make  sure  whether  at  the  same  time  he  could  continue 
with  his  life-work. 

''It  must  be  a  very  high  position,  isn't  it?"  Lilly  asked 
proudly.  Had  the  world  felt  impelled  to  make  him  Min- 
ister of  Fine  Arts,  or  Emperor  of  China,  she  would  not 
have  been  a  bit  surprised. 

But  he  hesitated  to  reply,  and  finally  said : 

*'I'd  rather  tell  you  about  it  when  it's  all  settled." 

She  had  to  be  content. 

Roofs  gleaming  red  crept  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes. 
On  the  edge  of  the  horizon  sparkled  a  lake,  nothing  more 
at  that  distance  than  a  fine  silver  thread. 

''Is  that  it?"  asked  Lilly. 

"Possibly." 

"Oh,  don't  put  on  such  a  mysterious  air,"  she  rebuked 
him  teasingly.  "Up  to  now  I've  been  very  good  and 
haven't  asked  a  single  question.  But  do  at  last  tell  what 
you  have  up  your  sleeve. ' ' 

"Afterwards,  when  we're  there,"  he  laughed.  "I  know 
you.  I  shouldn't  like  to  make  you  jealous  before  the  time's 
ripe." 

Oh,  if  a  woman  was  in  the  case ! 

Another  woman ! 

She  gave  no  outer  signs  of  her  emotion,  but  as  she 
walked  along  she  felt  quite  ill,  partly  from  hunger,  partly 
from  distress. 


The  Song  of  Songs  535 

The  lake  in  its  ligh*  blue  summer  beauty  now  lay  before 
them  with  its  greyish-green  girdle  of  reeds  and  its  glisten- 
ing play  of  light. 

Not  far  from  the  bank,  on  an  eminence  encircled  with 
bushes,  stood  an  inn,  a  reddish-yellow  atrocity,  built  in  that 
barbarous  style  for  frame  houses  halfway  between  a  palace 
and  a  barn. 

But  three  or  four  wide-spreading  ancient  lindens  sur- 
rounded the  inn,  and  the  white  benches  beneath  offered 
pleasant  seats  according  with  Lilly 's  and  Konrad  *s  mood. 

To  the  left  the  lake  stretched  into  the  hazy  distance;  to 
the  right,  beyond  the  reeds,  in  the  cove,  lay  a  peasant  vil- 
lage, with  its  mossy  green  thatched  roofs  and  its  blunt, 
weather-beaten  spire  half  hidden  in  the  bushes  and  reeds. 

And  nearby,  only  a  few  hundred  feet  away,  rose  the 
mighty  trees  of  a  park,  from  the  interior  of  which  here 
and  there  came  a  gleam  of  columns  and  bridges  and  white, 
vine-clad  walls. 

Probably  the  ** forbidden  garden,**  in  front  of  whose 
railing  she  was  to  stand  that  day. 

How  beautiful  and  how  mysterious. 

Anglers  came  up  from  the  lake,  red  as  lobsters  and 
panting  with  thirst,  the  sole  guests,  it  seemed,  besides  Lilly 
and  Konrad.  The  stream  of  Sunday  excursionists  had  not 
yet  flowed  into  that  quiet  corner. 

But  the  bill  of  fare  offered  a  dizzying  abundance  of 
good  things — too  bad  they  had  come  all  at  once.  The 
landlady  who  handed  them  the  card  with  smiling  obse- 
quiousness, was  an  artful  city  product. 

Konrad  wanted  Lilly  to  arrange  the  menu,  but  she  re- 
fused. The  thought  of  the  woman  in  the  case  oppressed 
her  sorely,  and,  as  through  a  dark  veil,  she  looked  on  the 
laughing  world,  which  willingly  threw  its  early  summer 
treasures  at  their  feet. 


536  .The  Song  of  Songs 

**At  last  we're  here,'*  she  said  sighing.  **Now  do  con- 
fess: what  sort  of  a  woman  is  she?" 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

**So  you  know  there's  a  woman  in  the  case?" 

**What  else  would  make  me  jealous?" 
•  **She  has  the  right  to  make  you  jealous,  I  must  say. 
I've  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful  in  my  life.     It's 
a  pity  she's  of  marble." 

Oh,  if  that  was  all. 

**I  am  and  always  will  be  a  goose,"  laughed  Lilly,  and 
he  kissed  her  hand  in  apology. 

While  awaiting  the  fish  they  had  ordered,  he  told  her  the 
history  that  led  up  to  their  present  pilgrimage. 

In  Rome  he  had  once  noticed  an  antique  bust  of  a  woman 
in  an  art  dealer's  show  window.  The  head  was  badly 
mutilated,  but  of  such  lofty  sombre  beauty  that  he  kept 
returning  to  the  window  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  it.  One 
day  he  found  the  dealer  and  a  German  gentleman  en- 
gaged in  an  eager  conversation,  which,  however,  never 
progressed,  because  the  two  did  not  understand  each  other. 
He  offered  his  services  as  interpreter,  and  to  his  dismay 
learned  that  his  beloved  was  being  bargained  for.  The 
German  was  a  baron,  courteous  and  evidently  a  man  of 
some  culture.  In  defiance  of  his  own  feelings  Konrad  tried 
his  best  to  arrange  the  sale,  and  for  his  pains  received  an 
invitation  to  view  the  bust  in  the  baron's  park — ^he  was 
to  convince  himself  that  the  beautiful  head  was  destined 
for  no  unworthy  setting. 

**Why,  then,  it's  not  a  forbidden  garden  after  all," 
cried  Lilly,  blissfully  stretching  her  arms  toward  the  mys- 
terious green  walls.    * '  We  have  the  right  to  enter  it. ' ' 

But  Konrad  looked  thoughtful. 

**It's  not  so  simple  as  all  that.    Remember — as  what 


The  Song  of  Songs  537 

shall  I  introduce  you?  You're  not  my  wife.  I  can't  say 
you're  my  sister,  as  you  and  I  pretend,  and  we're  both 
too  young  for  any  other  relationship." 

A  sudden  bitterness  welled  up  within  her.  Again  she 
felt  scorned,  outlawed,  expelled  from  the  community  of 
the  virtuous. 

"You  should  hare  left  me  at  home/'  she  burst  out. 
**I'm  nothing  but  a  burden  to  you." 

*'0h,  Lilly,"  he  said,  ''what  do  I  care  for  all  the  marble 
women  in  the  world!  I'd  rather  stand  outside  with  you 
than  be  shown  the  honours  of  the  entire  place. ' ' 

Reconciled  and  grateful,  she  stroked  his  hand  hanging  at 
his  side. 

At  this  point — at  last !  the  carp  was  senred. 

Two  hours  later  they  were  walking  along  an  endless 
wall  about  nine  feet  high  with  never  a  break  in  it  to  peep 
through. 

But  at  the  comer  of  the  park  to  the  right  the  wall  came 
to  an  end  giving  place  to  a  high  mossy  wooden  fence, 
which  allowed  them  a  view  some  distance  into  the  in- 
terior. 

Ancient  plane  trees  arched  over  shady  nooks  with  lin- 
dens and  elms  forcing  themselves  between.  Large-leafed 
vines  with  great  violet  eyes  draped  the  open  grassy  places. 
In  the  background  on  a  hillock  about  which  towered  sombre 
spruces  stood  a  small,  solemn  round  temple  with  Tuscan 
columns  and  a  gleaming  green  roof. 

**She  must  be  in  there,"  said  Konrad.  But  the  temple 
was  empty. 

So  they  continued  their  search.  Not  a  single  opening 
in  the  foliage  escaped  them.  Here  something  gleamed  and 
there  and  there — a  Ceres,  a  satyr  blowing  his  pipe  of  Pan. 


538  The  Song  of  Songs 

In  a  cypress  thicket  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  wayside 
shrine  of  Our  Lady,  but  the  woman's  head  they  were 
seeking  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

They  walked  on.  A  stream  flowing  from  within  the 
park  crossed  the  road.  An  unsightly  plank  bridge,  such 
as  is  to  be  seen  on  every  highway,  led  across. 

But  a  few  hundred  feet  away,  inside  the  park,  another 
bridge  boldly  yet  gracefully  threw  its  shining  white  arch 
over  the  running  water. 

**The  bridges  in  Venice  look  like  that,'*  he  said. 

*  *  That  is  the  way  the  gods  went  to  Walhalla, ' '  she  said. 

With  a  sigh  they  stopped  and  pictured  the  delights  of 
crossing  that  bridge. 

Still  nothing  to  be  seen  of  their  marble  bust. 

Beyond  the  plank  bridge,  where  the  village  began,  the 
park  receded  some  distance  from  the  road.  A  row  of  tall 
serious  Weymouth  pines  ran  along  the  other  side  of  the 
fence. 

The  village  street  was  gay  with  Sunday  life.  The  sound 
of  a  piano  and  a  fiddle  came  from  a  dancing  hall,  inter- 
rupted every  now  and  then  by  the  roll  of  bowling  balls. 

Lilly  and  her  friend  passed  without  giving  heed  to  these 
things.  Their  wishes  were  still  fastened  upon  the  for- 
bidden garden.     Each  moment  increased  their  longing. 

Hidden  between  the  village  lindens  crouched  crumbling 
stone  posts  to  which  the  decaying  fence  pales  clung  with 
difficulty. 

Here  the  foliage  in  the  interior  was  impenetrable  to  the 
eye.  Ivy  and  clematis  serpentined  from  trunk  to  trunk, 
and  lilacs  and  spiraeas  grew  in  rank  profusion  between. 

The  lord  of  the  garden  seemed  to  have  drawn  an  inner 
living  hedge  about  himself  and  his  companions  to  conceal 
them  in  laughing  seclusion. 


The  Song  of  Songs  539 

Once  more  they  walked  along  in  vain  endeavouring  to 
get  a  peep  into  the  interior. 

Presently  they  came  upon  an  ancient,  three-winged  gate, 
which  with  its  vases  and  columns,  its  cracked  belfry,  and 
its  wrought-iron  lace  work,  was  half  sunk  in  blooming 
acacias. 

Here  at  last  they  could  get  a  good  view  of  the  park. 

In  sombre  solemnity  tall  pines  led  straight  to  the  castle. 
But  even  here  they  were  unable  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  the 
buildings,  which  probably  stood  off  to  one  side  hidden  be- 
hind trees  and  bushes.  The  only  architectural  bit  their 
searching  eyes  discerned  was  a  columned  terrace,  where 
cherubs  fluttered  their  snowy  white  wings. 

''Oh,  how  beautiful!"  sighed  Lilly,  and  pressing  her 
face  between  the  iron  bars  she  jestingly  whined  and  begged 
to  be  let  in. 

''Thaft^s  just  the  way  I  stood  outside  the  gate  in  Ravello. 
Now  you  know  what  it's  like.'' 

His  words  brought  to  Lilly  the  realisation  that  she  had 
long  known  what  *'it  was  like."  She  was  familiar  with 
the  feeling.  She  had  often  stood  in  the  very  same  posi- 
tion. 

But  where,  where? 

"Where  had  cold  iron  pressed  her  cheeks  just  as  now? 

Oh,  yes.  Many  and  many  a  time  she  had  stood  at  the 
iron  grating  of  the  door  leading  to  Mrs.  Dehnicke's  stair- 
case, that  proud,  laurel-shaded  staircase  which  her  dese- 
crated feet  were  never  to  tread. 

That,  too,  was  a  forbidden  garden! 

Forbidden  gardens  everywhere ! 

"Shouldn't  we  go?"  she  asked  softly.  **It  will  simply 
depress  us  to  remain  here." 

Hand  in  hand  they  returned  the  entire  distance  they 


540  The  Song  of  Songs 

had  come,  keeping  as  close  as  possible  to  the  enclosure  and 
speaking  of  anything  but  their  hearts'  desire. 

Nevertheless,  their  eyes  remained  fastened  on  the  goal  of 
their  aspirations;  and  the  yearning  they  both  felt,  though 
neither  of  them  would  express  it  for  fear  of  hinting  re- 
proaches, threw  a  fairy  film  of  gold  over  the  universe. 
•        •        • 

Evening  came. 

Violet  shadows  lay  upon  the  meadows,  the  coppery  pine 
trunks  glowed  like  torches.  As  the  sinking  sun  dipped 
into  the  reeds,  the  lake  lost  its  cool  blue  silvery  sheen  and 
adorned  itself  with  a  net  of  reddish  gold.  It  looked  aa  if 
it  had  sportively  drawn  to  itself  the  fulfilment  of  all 
earthly  promises. 

The  two  could  no  longer  bear  it  on  land. 

Down  at  the  bathing  pavilion,  where  a  merry  lot  of 
people  were  splashing  about  in  the  evening  coolness,  there 
was  a  boat  to  be  hired  for  very  little. 

Konrad  took  the  oars  and  Lilly  seated  herself  at  the 
tiller. 

Water  plants  plashed  lightly  against  the  sides  of  the 
boat,  and  the  bow  cut  through  a  waving  carpet  of  pollen. 

Among  this  year's  tender  green  reeds  stood  the  yel- 
lowish-grey weather-beaten  remnants  of  last  year's  growth. 
Dark  bulrushes  edged  the  shores,  and  the  water-flag 
planted  its  golden  tents  between. 

Over  the  reeds  and  bulrushes  they  could  see  the  massed 
park  trees  rising  toward  the  heavens  like  purple  walls. 

When  Lilly  told  him  to  look  there,  he  observed  indif- 
ferently : 

**0h,  no  use,  it's  out  of  the  question." 

Nevertheless  he  continued  to  cast  sidelong  glances  that 
way. 

Lilly  in  her  slight  experience  with  boats  did  not  know 


Tlie  Song  of  Songs  541 

how  to  manage  the  tiller,  and  after  trying  a  while  she 
threw  the  rope  down  and  spread  her  white  shawl  on  the 
bottom  of  the  boat  to  make  a  cosy  nest  for  herself. 

She  lay  crouched  at  Konrad's  feet  with  her  back  to  the 
seat  in  the  stem,  and  with  her  eyes  lost  in  the  blue 
depths  she  began  to  plan  a  different  future,  some  way  of 
saving  herself  by  a  desperate  leap  into  the  land  of  the 
virtuous. 

She  would  give  music  lessons — ^her  knowledge  sufficed 
for  beginners — and  with  her  savings  prepare  for  the  stage, 
for  which  her  talents  eminently  fitted  her — or,  better  still, 
take  up  scientific  studies,  because  she  must  keep  intellectual 
pace  with  him.  She  must  be  a  suitable  friend  so  long  as 
he  needed  her  friendship. 

Or — not  to  wound  the  sensibilities  of  others — she  would 
leave  Germany,  earn  her  living  as  a  teacher  of  German, 
and  when  he  should  summon  her,  return  a  new,  purified 
being. 

Or— oh  dear,  *'or!" 

To  lie  and  dream  and  drink  the  cup  of  her  present  joy 
to  the  dregs.  Discovery  and  death — the  one  involved  the 
other— would  come  soon  enough. 

The  sun  dissolved  behind  a  blood-red  curtain.  Violet 
vapours  closed  down,  enveloping  things  far  and  near. 
The  entire  world  seemed  to  have  thinned  into  light  and 
air.  The  reeds  alone,  with  their  slender  black  stalks  stand- 
ing out  against  the  evening  glow  like  a  dainty  railing  of 
wrought  iron,  retained  their  corporeal  aspect. 

The  foliage  of  the  park  slowly  melted  into  a  mass  of 
darkness. 

Now  the  park  seemed  to  be  doubly  a  forbidden  garden, 
filled  to  the  brim  with  thrills  and  mysteries,  sunk  forever 
in  the  realm  of  the  unattainable. 

As  the  boat  glided  slowly  along  the  edge  of  the  reeds 


542  The  Song  of  Songs 

a  blue  cove  suddenly  opened  up,  making  a  wedge-shaped 
cut  into  the  land  on  the  park  side.  It  seemed  to  continue 
inward  without  end. 

For  a  few  moments  Konrad  remained  motionless,  his 
oars  suspended.  Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  joy. 

* '  What 's  the  matter  ?    What 's  the  matter  ? ' ' 

**You  remember  the  stream  flowing  out  on  the  other  side 
of  the  parkT' 

*^  Certainly." 

**It  must  have  flowed  in  somewhere — eh?" 

"Of  course." 

He  pointed  to  the  gleaming  tip  of  the  cove. 

*' There  it  is." 

*'You  think  we  shall  after  all—?" 

The  thought  was  too  bold  for  utterance. 

*'Now,  by  water,  in  this  boat,  we  shall  cross  that  whole 
dark  region  from  one  side  to  the  other. '  * 

In  her  rapture  she  jumped  up  with  a  little  outcry  of 
delight,  and  fell  upon  his  neck,  naturally,  as  if  they  had 
never  exchanged  vows  and  pledges. 

The  boat  gradually  slipped  into  the  current  and  floated 
between  meadows  set  with  willows  where  the  evening  mist 
lay  like  white  swathes.  Beyond  stood  gleaming  peasant 
huts ;  and  fishing  nets  draped  the  fences. 

Then,  at  a  bend  in  the  stream,  a  mighty  arch  of  foliage 
opened  up  before  them. 

"O  Lord!"  cried  Lilly. 

**Psst!  We  must  keep  very  quiet  now,"  he  said,  **else 
we'll  be  turned  out  after  all." 

He  dipped  his  oars  so  lightly  that  the  sound  might  have 
been  taken  for  the  splash  of  a  leaping  fish. 

He  rowed  through  the  gate  of  leaves  under  branches 
joined  overhead  in  a  mazy  thicket.    It  was  dark  as  night 


The  Song  of  Songs  543 

in  this  spot,  though  here  and  there  on  the  right  a  gleam 
of  the  summer  twilight  pierced  through  the  foliage. 

They  also  caught  a  glimpse  of  lights  and  heard  talk  and 
laughter  and  the  sound  of  clinking  glasses  and,  intermit- 
tently, a  chord,  as  if  someone  in  the  midst  of  conversation 
carelessly  ran  his  hand  over  the  keys. 

Here  the  trees  and  bushes  were  wider  apart,  and  they 
had  ammobstructed  view  of  the  castle — a  broad,  two-storey 
building.  Its  ponderous  simplicity  pointed  to  the  time 
when  the  grandees  of  Brandenburg  had  not  yet  possessed 
a  feeling  for  art.  But  on  the  terrace  were  the  cherubs  who 
had  greeted  them  from  a  distance  in  the  afternoon. 

Between  their  white  bodies  at  a  long  table  in  the  flick- 
ering lamplight  sat  a  chattering,  laughing,  singing  com- 
pany, apparently  drinking  in  the  intoxication  of  the 
summer  evening  with  their  wine. 

**He,  too,  might  be  sitting  there,  if  I  weren't  a  mill- 
stone about  his  neck, ' '  thought  Lilly,  and  she  felt  as  if  she 
ought  to  beg  his  pardon. 

The  current  carried  the  boat  on.  The  banquet  scene 
vanished  like  the  vision  of  a  moment. 

Passing  that  end  of  the  castle  in  which  the  kitchen  and 
pantries  isiy,  where  ministering  spirits  ran  busily  to  and 
fro,  they  dipped  once  more  into  silence  and  darkness. 

To  the  right  of  them  back  of  the  many- windowed  edifice, 
was  a  lawn  with  old  statues  and  ivy-draped  urns — to  the 
left  a  world  buried  in  darkness.  A  line  of  lindens,  hun- 
dreds of  years  old,  bordered  the  stream  and  stifled  every 
ray  of  light  in  its  dark  halls. 

Perhaps  this  was  where  the  marble  bust  was  hidden, 
Lilly  peered  into  every  recess,  though  furtively,  so  as  to 
reserve  the  pleasure  of  discovery  for  him. 

They  now  approached  the  daintily  arched  bridge  they 
had  seen  from  afar  in  the  daytime. 


544  The  Song  of  Songs 

It  did  not  lead  to  Walhalla,  but  from  a  spiraea  bush  to 
a  hemp  bush,  and  beneath  it  slept  a  pair  of  swans,  who 
awoke  at  the  stroke  of  the  oars  and  with  outspread  wings 
swam  behind  the  boat  begging  for  bread. 

''Swans!  The  one  thing  lacking!'*  Lilly  rejoiced 
softly,  and  sought  in  vain  for  a  crumb.  She  turned  to 
look  after  the  swans  and  her  neck  touched  his  knees. 

' '  May  I  stay  this  way  ? ' '  she  asked  a  little  anxiously. 

**If  you're  comfortable,"  he  answered.  There  was  a 
yielding  tone  in  his  voice  which  ran  warm  through  her 
body. 

She  unpinned  her  hat,  and  laid  it  on  the  back  seat. 
Now  she  was  free  to  lean  her  head  lightly  against  him. 
With  sweet  alarm  she  felt  his  hand  quietly  stroke  her  head. 

But  he  seemed  taciturn  and  self-absorbed,  as  if  a  burden 
were  weighing  upon  him  which  he  was  not  strong  enough 
to  shoulder. 

And  again  she  felt,  as  ofttimes,  that  a  veil  hung  between 
them,  a  veil  seldom  lifted  aside,  which  obscured  the  true 
features  of  his  being,  no  matter  how  closely  her  love  drew 
her  to  him. 

*'0h,  if  only  he  were  gay!'* 

The  park  came  to  an  end. 

The  red  evening  glow,  no  longer  shadowed  by  a  mass  of 
foliage,  shone  upon  them  insistently.  The  magic  spell 
threatened  to  be  broken.  The  world  took  on  its  ordinary 
aspect. 

''Come,  turn,"  she  asked  softly. 

He  rowed  back  again  into  the  blissful  night. 

Now  he  had  to  strive  against  the  current,  and  could  not 
avoid  the  sound  of  splashing. 

''If  only  they  don't  catch  us,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  they  are  too  happy,"  rejoined  Lilly,  "they 
wouldn't  do  anything  to  a  happy  person." 


iThe  Song  of  Songs  545 

**It  seems  almost  like  an  enchanted  castle,  but  who  can 
tell — it  may  be  a  delusion.'' 

**Why?'' 

*'0h,  the  most  grievous  wound  may  be  hidden  under 
flowers,  and  many  a  man  hides  himself  behind  beauty  be- 
cause he  has  buried  his  powers." 

The  doubt  displeased  Lilly. 

**But  they  should  be  happy,"  she  exclaimed  softly. 
**  Those  who  can  spare  so  much  as  they  have  given  us 
to-day  have  enough  left  for  themselves." 

** Illogical  conclusion,  darling,"  he  replied.  **You  can 
enrich  a  beggar  and  still  remain  as  poor  as  a  church- 
mouse.  ' ' 

*  *  Are  we  beggars  1 ' '  she  asked,  raising  herself  up  to  him 
tenderly. 

*  *  No,  by  God,  we  are  not  beggars, ' '  he  replied  drawing  a 
deep  breath. 

There  was  silence  for  a  time.  Then  it  seemed  to  Lilly 
something  warm  and  moist  fell  upon  her  forehead. 

For  God's  sake!  He  was  crying!  Crying  with  happi- 
ness. How  had  she  deserved  it — she,  Lilly  Czepanek — 
she —  ? 

To  hide  her  own  tears  she  crouched  down  again.  It  was 
an  overflowing  measure — unendurable.  She  wanted  to  sob, 
cry  aloud,  kiss  his  hands.  Yet  she  was  forced  to  clench 
her  fists  and  stuff  her  gloves  between  her  teeth,  to  keep 
him  from  seeing  what  was  going  on  within  her.  It  was 
a  God-send  that  as  they  slowly  approached  the  castle  again, 
the  sound  of  a  woman's  singing  reached  them.  Full  ring- 
ing tones,  which  in  the  ascending  notes  struck  her  heart 
like  a  lash. 

What  was  she  singing?  Wasn't  it  from  Tristan?  Lilly 
had  never  heard  the  opera,  but  it  could  only  be  from 
Tristan. 


546  The  Song  of  Songs 

She  raised  her  head  questioningly. 

** Isolde's  Liehestod/*  Konrad  whispered  in  her  ear. 

He  turned  the  boat  toward  the  shore  in  the  deepest  dark- 
ness.    They  must  not  lose  a  note. 

Up  there  on  the  terrace  the  laughing  and  talking  had 
ceased.  The  nightingale  alone,  in  the  linden  thicket,  would 
not  be  silenced,  and  mingled  its  sweet  ecstasy  with  the 
exultation  in  death  of  the  woman  who  like  no  other  crea- 
tion of  God  or  man  teaches  us  that  the  desire  not  to  be  is 
the  most  exalted  affirmation  of  to  be. 

Lilly,  her  whole  body  quivering,  put  her  hand  over  her 
shoulder  to  grasp  his.  She  had  to  hold  on  to  him.  Other- 
wise she  felt  she  would  sink  into  the  void.  She  did  not 
grow  easier  until  she  felt  his  warm  fingers  between  hers. 

The  song  ended.  The  mighty  arpeggios  of  the  accom- 
paniment died  away.  There  was  no  applause.  Each  of 
the  merry  guests  had  realised  his  indebtedness  to  the  occa- 
sion. 

Konrad  pressed  her  hand  and  withdrew  his,  and  took  up 
the  oars  again. 

The  forbidden  garden  began  to  disappear. 

The  reddish  dusk  of  night  lay  upon  the  meadows.  Not  a 
sound  far  or  near.  Nevertheless  the  world  seemed  filled 
with  the  music  of  harps  and  ringing  songs. 

**We  haven't  seen  your  marble  woman,"  Lilly  whis- 
pered, stroking  his  knees,  *  *  but  I  keep  thinking  that  was 
her  voice. ' ' 

**I,  too,*'  he  burst  out  passionately.  **And  she  wasn't 
singing  for  the  good  folk  up  there,  but  just  for  us. ' ' 

**0h,  if  only  I  eould  sing  it  like  her,"  sighed  Idlly. 

**Try." 

She  rememberod  bits  here  and  there,  but  was  unable  to 
gather  them  into  a  whole.     Besides  something  else  forced 


The  Song  of  Songs  547 

its  way  between,  which  now  gushed  up  mightier  than  all 
else. 

"With  the  Song  of  Songs  of  the  greatest  and  richest  her 
own  poor  Song  of  Songs  mingled,  undesired,  uncalled. 

And  she  sang  into  the  deep  silence : 

Tell  me,  O  thou  whom  my  soul  loveth, 

Where  thou   feedest? 

Where  lettest  thou  thy  flock  rest  at  noon? 

For  why  should  I  appear  like  a  vailed  mourner — 

She  stopped. 

*  *  What  is  that  ? "  he  asked.     '  *  I  don 't  know  it  at  all. ' ' 

**It  is — my — Song  of  Songs,"  she  rejoined  fetching  a 
deep  breath. 

Never  before  had  she  uttered  the  name  to  a  human 
being. 

* '  Your  Song  of  Songs  ? "  he  asked,  bewildered. 

Lilly  realised  an  hour  like  this  would  never  come  again. 
It  was  the  moment  to  confide  to  him  the  secret  of  her 
youth. 

**Drop  the  oars  and  listen.  I  wiU  tell  you  something. 
It  may  sound  silly  and  stupid  to  you,  but  to  me  it  was 
always  like  something  sacred.*' 

Without  speaking  he  laid  the  oars  down. 

**You  must  sit  next  to  me,'*  she  said,  **so  I  can  look  at 
you." 

He  cast  a  searching  glance  in  all  directions. 

The  boat  had  long  been  quietly  drifting  again  on  the 
mirror-like  lake,  upon  which  all  the  light  of  the  summer 
night  had  gathered  in  scintillating  blue  and  purple  spots. 
Nowhere  the  slightest  sign  of  danger. 

Then  he  did  as  she  had  asked. 

They  nestled  on  the  boat  bottom  pressed  close  against  each 


548  The  Song  of  Songs 

other  with  their  ^eads  leaning  against  the  bench  on  which 
Konrad  had  been  sitting. 

And  she  told  her  tale. 

Told  of  the  legacy  her  vanished  father  had  left,  what 
power  had  always  emanated  from  it ;  how  it  had  completely 
filled  her  girlhood  years,  though  later  it  had  acquired  a  far 
loftier  and  more  mysterious  significance,  becoming  a  symbol 
of  her  deeds.  When  her  life  sank  into  chaos  and  nothing- 
ness it  remained  dumb,  often  for  years.  But  if  her  soul 
began  to  soar,  when  her  hopes  and  activities  harmonic  3d, 
then  all  of  a  sudden  it  reappeared,  and  with  its  soft  song 
drowned  the  world's  evil.  It  had  not  been  able  to  guard 
her  against  guilt  or  disgrace,  but  it  had  kept  her  free  in- 
wardly and  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  the  One  who 
would  some  day  come  to  her. 

And  now  that  he  actually  had  come,  she  felt  that  the 
hour  of  fulfilment  had  struck  both  for  her  and  her  Song  of 
Songs.  It  must  now  go  forth  into  the  world  and  conquer 
all  hearts  and  bring  purification  and  upliftment  to  its 
creator  and  herself. 

In  her  enthusiasm  she  forgot  the  time  and  the  place  and 
the  whole  world. 

The  one  thought  obsessed  her:  to  throw  more  of  her  in- 
ward self,  of  what  was  most  holy  to  her,  at  his  feet.  But 
she  had  said  everything,  more  than  she  had  ever  deemed 
herself  likely  to  tell  a  living  soul,  more  than  she  had  known 
of  herself  up  to  that  hour. 

He  now  held  in  his  hands  whatever  there  was  of  good 
and  lofty  and  hopeful  still  within  her.  The  other — ^the  lax, 
the  impure,  that  which  had  ruined  her  heart  and  life — no 
longer  existed.     It  no  longer  concerned  her. 

While  speaking,  though  she  would  have  liked  to  look  at 
him,  she  had  not  dared  to ;  but  now  that  she  was  finished, 
she  ventured  to  turn  toward  him. 


The  Song  of  Songs  549 

She  saw  his  eyes  resting  upon  her  with  a  singularly  con- 
fused and  drunken  look,  such  as  she  had  never  before  seen 
in  him.  He  usually  held  his  feelings  as  it  were  in  his 
clenched  fists. 

Her  heart  began  to  throb,  and  the  hopeful  disquiet  for 
which  she  had  no  name  and  no  object  became  so  strong  that 
she  felt  she  should  have  to  run  to  the  other  end  of  the  boat 
to  keep  from  stifling  at  his  side. 

Then  she  saw  him  close  his  eyes  and  throw  his  head  back 
hard  against  the  bench. 

**You'll  hurt  yourself,**  she  whispered.  And  so  far 
from  fleeing  him,  she  laid  her  arm  like  a  pillow  between 
his  neck  and  the  cutting  edge  of  the  bench. 

His  head  rested  on  her  bosom,  and  he  breathed  heavily. 

*  *  Shall  I  sing  some  more  of  it  ? '  *  she  asked,  bending  over 
him  tenderly. 

**Yes,  yes,  yes,'*  he  burst  out. 

So  she  sang  in  a  low  caressing  voice,  as  if  they  were  lulla- 
bies, all  those  arias  and  odes  which  no  mortal  ear  had 
heard  from  her  lips  since  the  day  when  her  mother's  soul 
had  gone  down  into  eternal  night. 

She  sang  of  the  **lily  of  the  valley"  and  the  *'rose  of 
Sharon"  and  the  verse  in  which  all  the  witchery  of  spring 
is  concentrated: 

For,  lo,  the  winter  is  past. 

The  rain  is  over  and  gone; 

The  flowers  appear  on  the  earth; 

The  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come, 

And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land; 

The  fig  putteth  forth  her  green  figs, 

And  the  vines  with  the  tender  grape  give  a  good  smell. 

Arise,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away. 

She  sang  more  and  still  more.  If  she  asked  him 
''Enough?"  he  merely  shook  his  head,  and  nestled  closer. 


550  The  Song  of  Songs 

Once  she  gave  a  fleeting  glance  upward,  and  noticed  they 
were  wedged  in  among  the  reeds,  and  night  had  completely 
descended. 

But  what  cared  she?  Somehow  or  other  they  would 
manage  to  get  home. 

There  was  little  more  of  it  to  sing.  **Set  me  as  a  seal 
upon  thy  heart*'  and  '*How  beautiful  are  thy  steps  in 
sandals,  O  prince's  daughter."  And  then  the  verse  the 
beginning  of  which  so  well  suited  the  day : 

Come,  my  friend! 

Let  us  go  forth  into  the  field. 

But  when  it  came  to 

Let  us  see  if  the  vine  have  blossomed. 
Whether  the  young  grape  have  opened, 

she  could  scarcely  go  on. 

Whether  the  pomegranates  have  budded. 
There  will   I  give  my  caresses  unto  thee. 

She  was  unable  to  continue.  Her  breath  began  to  give 
out. 

**Why  don't  you  sing?"  she  heard  him  ask. 

A  buzzing  of  bees,  a  ringing  of  bells  all  about. 

*  *  Be  brave ! ' '  her  soul  cried,  * '  Else  you  will  lose  him. ' ' 

She  felt  two  twitching  lips  grope  for  hers. 

A  swift  end  to  all  bravery. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  they  landed.  The  bath- 
ing pavilion  stood  there  dark  and  deserted ;  but  lights  were 
still  shining  in  the  hotel. 

Very  timidly  they  rang  the  bell. 

^'We  always  keep  a  room  for  belated  young  married 
couples,"  said  the  obsequious,  smiling  hostess. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

It  would  be  wide  of  the  truth  to  aver  that  no  happy  star 
favoured  Lilly's  ripened  love. 

In  the  first  place  Adele  proved  to  be  a  circumspect  ally, 
thoroughly  accustomed  to  be  uncommunicative  and  passion- 
ately devoted  to  the  cause  of  Lilly's  lover.  In  the  second 
place  Richard,  who  had  gone  to  his  mother  in  Harzburg 
that  epoch-making  Sunday,  had  remained  away  the  greater 
part  of  a  week  instead  of  one  day.  And  in  the  third  place, 
upon  visiting  her  on  his  return,  he  was  so  preoccupied  with 
himself  and  his  own  affairs  as  not  to  notice  in  the  least 
Lilly's  guilty  embarrassed  reception  of  him. 

He  affected  a  highly  lofty  mien  and  talked  through  his 
nose,  as  always  when  he  pulled  his  soul  together,  as  it  were, 
and  became  vividly  conscious  of  having  once  been  a  cavalry 
officer.  He  even  wore  his  monocle  again  hanging  down 
over  his  navy-blue  silk  waistcoat. 

All  of  which  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  crafty  expres- 
sion with  which  he  blinked  his  eyes  and  steadily  looked  past 
Lilly  and  dropped  his  head  on  his  left  shoulder,  gave 
sufficient  ground  for  the  welcome  assumption  that  he  had 
delayed  the  visit  to  his  mother  and,  instead, — like  Lilly 
herself — had  taken  a  side  excursion  a  deux  into  the  blossom- 
ing world  of  spring. 

The  conjecture,  however,  proved  to  be  false. 

Richard  had  been  in  Harzburg  the  whole  time  and  in- 
tended to  return  the  very  next  day  for  a  longer  stay  of  at 
least  four  weeks. 

** What's  the  matter?"  he  exclaimed  in  alarm. 
551 


552  The  Song  of  Sr>-  "s 

Lilly,  overwhelmed  by  the  ver ^ '  aipest  of  happiness 

that  burst  upon  her,  had  reeled  ak  on  the  arm  of  a 

chair.  ^^^^^ 

She  instantly  collected  her  wits  again  and-denied  that  she 
had  been  overcome.  Nevertheless,  he  remained  full  of  so- 
licitude, kissed  her  on  her  neck  again  and  again,  and  would 
not  permit  her  to  go  to  the  trouble  of  pouring  out  the  tea 
for  him.  A  guilty  conscience  peeped  from  every  pore  of  his 
being. 

''Unfortunate'        he  said,  trying  to  return  to  his  former 
lofty  manner,  "unfortunately  there's  no  longer  a  ch  '-"ce  of 
our  taking  a  trip  together.    Anyhow — we've  gottcii    •;•■<* 
used  to  each  other.     Both  of  us  will  have  to  practise  '  * 
ting  along  without  each  other.     It's  highly  desirable    - 
should.    We  certainly  should." 

His  words  sounded  like  familiar  music  coming  from  a 
great,  great  distance. 

''Confess,"  she  said  smiling.    "What  is  it  this  time?" 

Out  he  came  with  it,  stuttering  and  choking  over  his 
words. 

An  '^  ''  -lan  heiress — of  German  extraction — ^millions 
and   .      '  not  millions  of  marks,  but  millions  of  dollars 

— vci  jand  chic —  a  wonderful  piece  of  luck — ^mama 

in  a  {^.,  _-i.o  have  it  go  through — her  parents  favourably 
disposed — she,  too,  evidently  nOt  disinclined.  This  time  or 
never. 

"Congratulate  you,"  said  Lilly,  giving  him  a  friendly 
handshake. 

He  looked  at  her  with  large,  astonished,  and  somewhat 
reproachful  eyes. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked. 

"Why— what  else?" 

*  *  How  can  you  remain  so  cool  ?  Doesn  't  the  thought  that 
your  old  friend  is  about  to  leave  you  move  you  in  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  553 


,pr^«; 


least?    I  took  you  more  loving,  more  sympathetic. 

I  certainly  did."    ^  "'^ 

*' Please  remembefJ^^'  -"'^ :  Lilly,  **you  reproach  me  ihe 
same  way  each  li-ne  you  make  up  your  mind  to  marry  be- 
cause I  don't  want  to  be  a  hindrance  to  you.  You  always 
act  as  if  I  had  dismissed  you,  and  not  you  me. ' ' 

He  burst  into  expostulations. 

** Dismiss — what  language  you  use!    You  haven't  the 

least  idea  of  what's  going  on  within  m*^  -how  I  struggle 

and  wrestle  with  myself.    "Why,  I  have         lept  for  nights 

thinking  what  will  become  of  you.     But  ^^A' behave  as  if  it 

didn'^^iincern  you  in  the  least !     Altogether  you're — frivo- 

oot   ii^^You  have  no  feelings — ^now  you  know  it." 

-^^>'3!iile  he  spoke,  pictures  of  her  approaching  freedom 

^>'^  .ed  before  her  eyes — nights  of  unshackled,  glowing  love, 

^^ys  full  of  sweet,  vague  dreams. 

What  followed  lay  as  far  off  as  the  end  of  the  world. 

Smiling  goodhumouredly,  she  listened,,  and  never  even 
responded. 

** Though  your  future  doesn't  seem  to  worry  vou/*  he 
continued  to  upbraid  her,  ''/  must  give  it  aU  .-  a',  more 
consideration.  I  must  provide  for  you,  and  r^  **'ite 
agrees  with  me.  '■•  i     *- 

The  word  **mama"  tore  her  from  her  wori.i  'r.  p-^:lms. 

Since  the  terrific  encounter  in  Richard's  office,  it  had 
scarcely  ever  passed  their  lips.  They  had  employed  a  thou- 
sand circumlocutions  and  substitutes  which  they  understood 
and  which  each  appreciated  in  the  other. 

Now  *'mama"  suddenly  rang  in  her  ears,  the  symbol  of 
her  disgraced  existence. 

**0h,"  she  cried,  ''if  she's  in  it,  it's  bound  to  be 
humiliating  to  me.  I'll  tell  both  of  you  one  thing:  take 
good  care  not  to  make  a  proposition  to  me  about  money,  or 
support,  or  anything  of  the  sort    I'd  consider  it  an  out- 


554  The  Song  of  Songs 

rageous  insult,  for  which  you  could  never  make  amends.** 

He  ran  up  and  down  the  room  wringing  his  hands. 

**What  are  you  talking  about  again!  Quite  apart  from 
the  fact  that  I'd  be  eternally  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world.  Woman,  don't  you  know  you're  ruined  if  I  turn 
you  adrift  empty-handed?  Don't  you  know  where  you'd 
go  to?     To  the  bars  and  brothels!    Don't  you  know  it?'* 

In  blissful  absentmindedness  Lilly  looked  past  him  and 
his  gallant  zeal. 

*' There  are  other  ways,**  she  whispered  half  to  herself. 

**What  ways?"  he  cried,  ** Marriage,  forsooth?  What 
decent  man  would  marry  you  after  you've  been  my  mis- 
tress for  four  years?" 

*' There  are  other  ways  than  that,  too,*'  she  repeated  still 
smiling. 

She  saw  a  life  full  of  fight  and  vigour,  a  tossing  hither 
and  thither  through  storm  and  stress,  a  jubilant  triumph 
which  led  her  into  the  community  of  those  who  were  as 
proud  and  true  as  Ae. 

But  all  that  would  come  later,  much,  much  later.  Why^ 
think  of  it  now  ? 

Richard  put  his  own  construction  upon  her  words.  He 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  suspiciously,  and  stopping  in  front 
of  her,  asked  with  a  shudder: 

**I  say — are  you  going  to  do  something  foolish?'* 

She  burst  out  laughing.  Probably  he  already  saw  her  beau- 
tiful corpse  taken  from  the  water  and  stretched  on  the  bier. 

**No,  I  won't  do  anything  foolish.  Certainly  not  for 
your  sake.  And  even  if  I  intended  to,  I'd  have  the  good 
taste  not  to  threaten  you  with  it." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  though  by  no  means 
quite  calmed. 

**At  any  rate,"  he  said,  "I  greatly  dislike  your  poking 


The  Song  of  Songs  555 

iiere  alone.  You'll  simply  get  the  blues  and  feel  irritated 
at  me.  I  say,  while  I'm  gone,  wouldn't  you  like  to  take 
a  little  trip  to  a  bath — Ahlbeck,  or  Schreiberbau,  or  some 
other  place  of  the  sort,  where  respectable  people  go  ? " 

Nothing  on  the  surface  but  a  faint  twitch  of  her  eyelids 
betrayed  the  laugh  of  scorn  that  shook  her  internally. 

**You  know,"  she  said,  **I  don't  like  to  make  up  to 
people,  and  so  I'd  be  all  the  more  alone." 

He  wrinkled  his  forehead  lost  in  thought. 

**Well — then — "  He  hesitated  and  chewed  his  words  as 
people  are  wont  to  do  when  they  dread  their  own  bravery, 
** — then — it  would  be  best  if  you — come  and  stay  near — " 

**Near — ^near  what?" 

**0h,  don't  act  that  way.     You  know  what  I  mean." 

**I  do,  but  I  cannot  believe  it." 

** What's  so  awful  about  it?  I  could  look  after  you  now 
and  then — or  talk  over  matters — different  things." 

"And  show  her  to  me  so  as  to  get  my  opinion  and  my 
blessing — eh?" 

**Well  and  supposing  it's  so?  The  way  we  are  to  eaoh 
other — the  way  we  haven't  done  a  thing  for  years  without 
asking  each  other's  advice,  what's  so  monstrous  about  it?" 

Lilly  felt  a  patronising  pity  arise  within  her.  She 
stroked  his  hands  and  said : 

**Dear  friend,  I  don't  think  I'd  furnish  the  right  sort 
of  assistance  to  you  in  your  courtship." 

Her  superior  tone  increased  his  ill-humour. 

**  Goodness  gracious!  'Assistance,'  *  courtship!'  You 
talk  as  if  you  were  on  the  stage.  Altogether  you're  so 
puffed  up — so  puffed  up !  Of  course  you  simply  want  to 
revenge  yourself  on  me  by  making  me  angry.  I  must  say 
it's  not  at  all  noble  of  you  at  such  a  time." 

She  laughed  and  stretched  herself.    How  low  it  all  was! 


556  The  Song  of  Songs 

How  ridiculous!  And  how  indifferent  to  her!  After  all 
did  it  concern  her? 

To  be  alone — alone  with  him!  There  was  nothing  else 
in  the  world  beside  that. 

*'Then  you  don't  want  to?*' 

She  shook  her  head,  ''No.'* 

''Very  well." 

He  prepared  to  leave  in  anger,  but  lacked  the  strength. 

"Lilly." 

"Hm?" 

"  I  'd  like  to  avoid  any  misunderstandings.  You  seem  to 
think  I  'm  not  in  earnest  this  time. ' ' 

"By  no  means,  Richard.  I  wish  you  all  possible  happi- 
ness. But  really,  with  the  best  of  intentions,  I  can  be  of 
no  service  to  you  in  this  affair. ' ' 

' '  Of  service  to  me !  Of  service  to  me !  Who 's  speaking 
of  service  to  me?  Mama  was  quite  right.  If  I  break  off 
this  time,  there  won't  be  anything  else  for  me  any  more. 
So  make  it  quite  clear  to  yourself.  In  a  few  weeks  all's 
over  between  us. ' ' 

"So  much  the  better,"  she  came  near  saying.  But  she 
saw  the  tears  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  and  refrained  from 
hurting  him. 

Four  years  lived  together  lay  behind  them.  He  was  too 
tightly  tied  to  her  apron  strings.  She  felt  she  ought  not 
to  let  him  go  without  her  advice  and  encouragement. 

So  she  spoke  to  him  as  to  a  child.  She  said  his  mother 
was  right,  praised  his  project,  and  counted  up  all  the  rea- 
sons why  it  absolutely  had  to  be.  In  order  to  calm  him  as 
to  her  own  attitude,  she  recalled  how  it  had  always  been  her 
ambition  to  let  him  feel  his  freedom  and  never  stand  in  his 
way.  She  also  assured  him  she  would  cherish  friendly 
sentiments  for  him  until  the  end  of  her  days. 

Finally,  on  parting,  they  both  wept. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Now  the  way  was  clear.  Now  she  might  consecrate  the 
new  life  and  rejoice  in  it. 

July  came  and  scorched  the  deserted  streets. 

The  denizens  of  the  aristocratic  west  side  who  remained 
in  town  with  no  employer  to  drive  them  dreamed  away  idle 
days  behind  drawn  shades,  hovering  between  the  couch  and 
the  bathtub. 

Lilly  did  not  awaken  to  real  life  until  evening  came, 
when  the  world  endeavoured  to  throw  off  the  heat  it  had 
absorbed  during  the  day,  when  dusty  yellow  vapours  rolled 
on  the  turbid  water  of  the  canal,  and  beyond  the  chestnuts, 
the  leaves  of  which  were  already  beginning  to  wither,  the 
red  glow  of  the  heavens  melted  into  one  with  the  winking 
lights  of  the  street  lamps. 

Then  she  strolled  at  Konrad^s  side  in  the  blue  twilight  of 
the  streets,  always  alert  to  escape  the  observation  of 
acquaintances. 

Staid  middle-class  families  promenaded  to  the  beer 
gardens,  love-couples  met  at  the  appointed  street  corners; 
and  among  them  surged  the  mass  of  those  whom  life  has 
left  solitary  with  shy  passionate  yearnings,  and  who  hope 
to  steal  from  smiling  chance  that  for  which  they  no  longer 
dare  implore  sterner  gods.  Over  the  exhausted  city  hung 
a  sultry  haze  of  secret  desire,  in  which  formal  restraint 
and  genuine  feeling  flickered  and  went  out,  leaving  no  sign 
of  ever  having  been. 

How  remote  those  days  when  Lilly  herself  wandered 
about  in  the  same  fashion,  hoping  for  the  intervention  of 

557 


558  The  Song  of  Songs 

fate,  yet  lacking  the  courage  to  compel  it.  And  shudder- 
ing at  dangers  she  had  escaped,  she  clung  closer  to  Kon- 
rad's  protecting  arm. 

She  and  Konrad  always  managed  to  find  a  secluded  nook 
where  gypsy  bands  played  their  fiddles,  or  Tyrolese 
strummed  their  dulcWers,  or  the  host  himself,  some  musi- 
cian come  down  in  the  world  acted  as  orchestra  leader.  In 
the  ivy-hung  corners  between  laurel  trees  planted  in  green 
painted  tubs  they  had  little  fear  of  discovery. 

Their  intercourse  had  undergone  a  change. 

There  were  still  instructive  discourses  upon  all  sorts  of 
subjects  and  Lilly  intently  hung  upon  Konrad 's  lips;  but 
her  holy  ardour  for  knowledge  had  cooled  down. 

That  God  does  not  exist,  that  Fra  Lippo  Lippi  had  been  a 
good-for-nothing,  that  baroque  art  has  it  good  points,  and 
that  a  line  gone  crazy  ought  to  be  sent  to  the  madhouse, 
even  if  it  poses  as  ultra-modern,  these  and  many  more 
novel,  interesting  things  Lilly  had  long  known.  But  they 
no  longer  evoked  discussion. 

Often  their  eyes  would  meet  and  linger  with  a  soft 
yearning  smile  in  them  as  if  that  were  the  most  eloquent 
language  in  which  they  could  talk  to  each  other.  And 
often  Konrad 's  thoughts  went  their  own  way,  returning 
to  Lilly  only  under  compulsion.  She  would  then  grow 
melancholy  and  jealous,  and  insist  on  leaving. 

She  would  not  feel  thoroughly  content  until  he  lay  com- 
fortably in  her  arm,  on  her  heart. 

The  walls  were  permeated  with  the  day's  heat;  the  cur- 
tains threatened  suffocation;  a  veritable  sirocco  blew 
through  the  cracks  of  the  shutters.  But  Lilly  and  Kon- 
rad suffered  no  discomfort.  The  glow  accorded  with  theit 
mood. 


The  Song  of  Songs  559 

It  was  the  greatest  disaster  for  either  of  them  to  fall 
asleep,  and  thus  shamefully  curtail  the  time  they  spent 
together.  So  they  agreed  that  the  one  who  remained  con- 
scious longer  should  rouse  the  other. 

Lilly  was  invariably  the  one  to  remain  awake.  Konrad 
was  exhausted  by  his  work,  and  in  the  morning  he  could 
not  doze  off  again  after  a  cup  of  tea  in  bed,  or  in  the  after- 
noon rest  on  the  couch.  And  when  he  lay  there  next  to 
her  with  twitching  limbs,  like  a  thoroughbred  hunting  dog, 
she  felt  much  too  sorry  for  him  to  keep  her  promise. 

She  would  sit  up  in  bed,  and  never  weary  of  gazing  at 
him  in  the  dim  light  of  the  red-shaded  candle. 

There  was  always  something  in  his  face  to  study — the 
strong-willed  fold  between  his  brows,  deeper  than  before 
and  still  somewhat  intimidating ;  the  muscles  of  his  temples 
incessantly  working;  and  the  curling  upper  lip,  the  right 
end  of  which  every  now  and  then  twitched  as  if  he  were 
smiling  at  her  in  his  Sleep.  He  had  grown  thin.  His  skin 
had  lost  its  firmness,  and  on  his  cheeks  lay  shadows  which 
darkened  at  his  jaws.  There  was  a  line  of  suffering  about 
his  nostrils.  He  looked  like  a  young  Christ,  created  just 
to  be  adored. 

Sometimes  while  staring  at  him,  she  thought: 

**If  I  were  to  kill  him  now,  run  a  hat  pin  through  his 
heart  or  something  of  the  sort,  he  would  belong  to  me,  to 
me  alone,  forever. '* 

Then  she  would  hollow  her  hand  and  place  it  on  the  left 
side  of  his  breast  and  fancy  she  held  his  heart  and  with 
his  heart  his  love,  which  she  need  never  more  give  up. 

Once  while  she  bent  over  him,  he  awoke  with  a  start. 

'* What's  the  matter?  Did  I  do  anything  to  youT'  he 
asked. 


560  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Yoiir  expression  is  so  strange,  almost  as  if  you  were 
angry  with  me. ' ' 

She  resolved  not  to  stare  at  him  any  more.  But  she  could 
not  resist ;  she  loved  him  too  dearly. 

It  was  horrible  when  dread  seized  her  that  she  might  lose 
him.  Many  a  night  it  attacked  her  with  such  awful  force 
that  she  felt  like  screaming  and  raving  and  tearing  her 
hair.  But  it  would  be  wrong  to  rouse  him.  So  she  gently 
laid  her  head  under  his  shoulder,  one  arm  under  his  back, 
the  other  across  his  breast,  and  pressing  close  against  him 
told  herself  she  had  grown  into  one  with  him. 

Then  gradually  she  grew  calmer  and  could  find  comfort 
in  tears,  or  in  picturing  to  herself  how  happy  she  would 
make  him,  unspeakably  happy.  She  would  envelop  him  in 
a  mantle  of  love,  so  soft  and  thick  as  to  prevent  fate's  rude 
blows  from  reaching  him.  She  would  be  his  muse,  would 
wear  an  invisible  aureole  about  her  head,  enkindle  the  de- 
sire within  him  for  a  thousand  great  deeds ;  she  would  give 
him  the  devoted  care  of  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  would  learn  to 
cook  and  make  her  own  dresses.  No — rather  attend 
scientific  courses  at  the  university,  and  study  music.  Oh, 
she  would  do  many  more  things,  that  he  should  never 
weary  of  her. 

For  all  this,  of  course,  she  would  first  have  to  be  free, 
with  relations  between  her  and  Richard  entirely  broken  off. 

She  often  thought  of  Richard  also,  but  without  a  shadow 
of  blame.  She  had  long  forgiven  him  for  having  led  her 
to  the  brink  of  the  abyss. 

''Each  person  acts  according  to  the  law  of  his  own 
being, ' '  Konrad  had  said. 

Besides,  Richard  had  once  been  her  saviour. 

So  far  a8  the  outer  world  was  concerned,  the  new  life 


The  Song  of  Songs  561 

was  to  begin  as  soon  as  Richard  announced  his  engagement. 
He  had  written  that  his  suit  was  progressing,  and  by  right 
her  free  life  with  Konrad  ought  already  to  have  com- 
menced, but  Lilly  did  not  feel  equal  to  a  crisis.  She 
shuddered  at  all  the  lies  she  would  continually  have  to  dish 
up  to  Konrad,  once  a  change  took  place  in  her  household. 

She  avoided  facing  the  poverty  that  was  bound  to  come. 
It  was  only  at  night  when  she  had  worked  herself  into  a 
joyous  ecstasy  on  the  sleeping  man 's  breast,  and  her  future 
with  him  stretched  before  her  in  gold  and  purple,  that 
privation  seemed  to  her  the  very  sum  and  substance  of 
happiness  and  plenitude. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the  street  lamps 
went  out  one  by  one,  and  the  grey  of  dawn  came  creeping 
over  the  ceiling,  Lilly  would  have  to  awaken  him. 

He  must  not  meet  any  of  the  tenants  of  the  house.  She 
owed  it  to  his  and  her  own  reputation. 

While  dressing  he  groped  about,  drunk  with  sleep,  among 
Lilly 's  ivory  toilet  articles,  still  resplendent  with  the  seven- 
pointed  coronet,  and  managed  to  get  himself  into  shape  for 
a  stimulating  cup  of  black  coffee  at  the  nearest  Vienna 
cafe. 

For  he  felt  that  from  Lilly's  bed  he  must  go  to  his  desk 
with  all  possible  speed. 

He  could  not  be  dissuaded  from  this  madness. 

The  passionate  hours  of  the  night  demanded  atonement ; 
an  idea  to  which  he  clung  tenaciously,  no  matter  that  he 
spent  the  early  morning  hours  in  vain,  wearisome  brood- 
ing over  his  papers. 

Lilly,  on  the  other  hand,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  from 
which  Adele  roused  her  at  about  ten  o'clock,  when  she 
brought  in  the  breakfast  tray,  smiling  contentedly. 

Lilly  let  Konrad  have  every  other  night  for  himself. 


562  The  Song  of  Songs 

She  did  not  want  to  suck  his  lifeblood  away.  Even  so 
he  gave  her  sufficient  cause  for  worry.  His  colour  was 
bad,  his  eyes  vacillated,  his  mood  varied  abruptly  from 
violent  gaiety  to  vacant-eyed  self-absorption. 

All  that  would  surely  be  different  when  once — ^what? 

To  think  of  nothing,  to  plan  nothing,  to  wish  for  noth- 
ing.    Just  to  love  him  and  know  he  was  happy. 

She  spent  her  days  dreaming  both  pleasant  and  tremu- 
lous dreams.  Her  intense  fervour  for  mental  occupation 
had  departed.  Besides,  all  sorts  of  new  and  important 
things  intervened  to  distract  her;  especially  the  need  to 
please  him,  to  hand  him  daily  the  draft  that  intoxicated 
him  and  kept  him  her  own. 

Hitherto  she  had  taken  the  beauty  of  her  body  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  had  paid  as  little  regard  to  it  as  to 
a  hidden  and  useless  object.  Now  she  felt  she  must  con- 
stantly take  thought  of  the  ideal  he  treasured  in  his  mind, 
must  try  to  resemble  it — she  well  knew  that  in  reality  she 
approached  it  a  little  only  when  drunken  bliss  exalted  her 
above  herself  and  the  stale  and  unprofitable  flats  of  her 
life. 

Thus  arose  an  eager  cult  of  her  flesh,  something  she  had 
always  despised. 

She  took  care  of  her  body  like  a  woman  in  a  harem,  per- 
fumed her  baths,  manicured  her  toe  nails,  lengthened  her 
eyebrows,  and  powdered  her  arms  and  shoulders.  Every 
day  she  discovered  new  blemishes,  which  discouraged  her 
and  for  which  she  sought  new  remedies. 

At  the  same  time  she  was  ever  haunted  by  the  fear  that 
through  sheer  attention  to  her  toilet  she  would  acquire  the 
look  of  a  beautiful  prostitute.  So  she  locked  away  her 
jewellery  and  dressed  very  simply.    None  but  the  connoi»- 


The  Song  of  Songs  563 

seur  could  discern  how  much  artistic  care  had  gone  into 
the  creation  of  this  faultless  simplicity. 

When  she  was  alone  what  troubled  her  most  was  jealousy. 
Not  that  she  suspected  him  of  relations  with  another  woman. 
He  stood  too  high  in  her  estimation  for  that.  But  she  was 
jealous  of  everything  he  did.  The  thought  of  his  desk 
fairly  tortured  her.  Each  hour  he  spent  away  from  her 
seemed  traitorous  to  her  love,  and  she  thought  of  his  friends 
with  a  hostility  of  which  she  had  never  deemed  herself 
capable. 

On  the  evenings  she  was  left  alone,  she  held  watch  over 
his  room  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  where  she 
stood  pressed  in  a  doorway  exactly  as  formerly  in  Alte 
Jakobstrasse. 

When  his  lamp  was  lighted  she  was  satisfied,  but  when 
she  saw  him  come  or  go  at  a  late  hour,  she  did  not  sleep 
the  whole  night. 

He  lived  a  short  distance  from  her  in  a  third-storey  room. 
It  was  long  before  he  permitted  her  to  call  on  him. 

In  the  room  next  to  his,  he  explained,  lay  a  sick  woman 
who  had  to  be  kept  from  the  slightest  excitement.  The 
sound  of  a  strange  voice  might  aggravate  her  condition. 

While  telling  this  to  Lilly  he  strangely  avoided  her 
eyes  and  she  felt  that  a  hundred  chances  to  one  he  was 
keeping  something  from  her.  But  when  upon  her  in- 
sistence he  admitted  her  to  his  room  one  afternoon  she 
found  nothing  to  confirm  her  suspicions.  She  merely  had 
to  speak  very  low ;  which  she  had  known  beforehand. 

His  room  was  just  an  ordinary  student's  room.  It  had 
two  windows,  a  high  ceiling,  cheap  furniture,  and  no  couch 
and  no  carpet.  But  valuable  engravings  adorned  the  walls, 
and  the  customary  pier-glass  was  hidden  behind  an  old 


564  The  Song  of  Songs 

copy  of  the  Madonna  di  Foligno,  who  looked  down  in  serene 
loftiness  upon  the  poverty  of  northern  philistinism.  There 
were  long  low  bookcases  full  of  books;  and  more  books, 
for  which  there  was  no  room  on  the  shelves  were  piled  up 
high  in  the  corners,  protected  against  dust  by  pieces  of 
crushed  oil-cloth,  such  as  pedlars  use  for  wrapping  about 
their  wares. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  the  desk  was  the  only  article  that 
displayed  a  certain  luxuriousness.  Like  the  pictures,  it 
was  Konrad's  own  property.  With  its  noble  carving  and 
broad  top,  it  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  solemn  as  an 
altar. 

Not  one  woman's  picture  to  be  seen  on  it.  Lilly  had 
not  given  him  hers,  and  evidently  others  were  not  deemed 
worthy  of  the  place  of  honour. 

There  was  only  one  photograph,  that  of  an  old  gentle- 
man, framed  with  glass,  which  stood  back  of  the  blotting 
pad  and  the  ink  well.  A  weather-beaten,  epicurean  face, 
with  fine  snow-white  hair,  and  shrewd  eyes  beneath  half- 
sunken  lids,  eyes  peculiar  to  old  connoisseurs  of  women. 

It  was  the  picture  of  the  uncle  who  had  paid  for  Kon- 
rad's  education  and  supported  him. 

Lilly  felt  a  dull  oppression,  as  if  those  eyes  were  look- 
ing her  through  and  through,  and  needed  but  a  glance 
to  unveil  the  great  secret  that  she  concealed  from  her 
lover  with  a  thousand  subterfuges. 

''I'll  be  careful  never  to  meet  him,**  she  thought. 

Konrad  took  from  a  drawer  his  precious  treasure,  the 
preliminary  work  on  his  great  history  of  human  emotions, 
and  showed  Lilly  the  reams  of  paper  closely  covered  with 
writing. 

This  work  was  his  real  love,  and  she,  Lilly  Czepanek, 


.THe  Song  of  Songs  565 

was  nothing  but  a  dark,  bloodless  shadow,  which  greedily; 
glided  through  his  nights. 

**Put  it  back  again/'  she  said  discontentedly,  and 
iturned  away  to  take  leave. 

But  even  his  great  work  was  not  enough  for  Konrad. 
In  addition,  he  drudged  over  a  number  of  short  articles. 
As  his  name  become  known  in  professional  circles,  he  re- 
ceived an  increasing  number  of  orders,  all  of  which  he  ac- 
cepted and  tried  to  fill. 

And  one  day  Lilly  found  out  what  the  important  posi- 
tion was  of  which  he  had  spoken  three  weeks  before  on  that 
never-to-be-forgotten  excursion. 

**I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  until  to-day,"  said  Kon- 
rad. **But  now  I  have  actually  decided  to  take  the  posi- 
tion. It  is  assistant  editorship  on  a  magazine.  The  editor- 
in-chief  called  on  me  himself,  and  wouldn't  let  go  of  me 
until  I  said  yes.  A  fascinating  fellow.  In  spite  of  his 
great  intellectual  ability,  a  man  of  childlike  innocence. 
And  so  frank  and  friendly.  You  must  get  to  know  him 
immediately,  if  you  don't  already." 

''What  is  his  name?" 

*'Dr.  Salmoni." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

No.     It  came  about  differently. 

Fate  did  not  lay  its  clutch  upon  her  with  such  rude 
hands. 

Lilly  was  spared  the  disgrace  of  being  caught  like  a 
criminal,  and  by  an  act  of  volition  was  enabled  to  prove 
that  she  was  not  unworthy  of  the  great  passion  that  had 
blessed  her  life. 

After  the  mention  of  Dr.  Salmoni  's  name  Lilly  feared  to 
venture  out  on  the  street  with  Konrad.  She  imagined  that 
each  person  coming  behind  them  must  be  the  dreaded  man, 
who  had  once  stolen  upon  her  in  front  of  the  house  on 
Alte  Jakobstrasse  and  might  be  following  her  now  as  he 
had  then. 

In  order  to  save  herself  this  torture  she  finally  told  Kon- 
rad that  a  lady  of  her  acquaintance  had  visited  her  the 
day  before  and  had  asked  with  marked  emphasis  about  the 
slim  young  man  with  whom  she  had  always  appeared. 

The  effect  of  Lilly's  lie  was  terrifying. 

Konrad  said  nothing  and  ate  nothing.  He  paced  up  and 
down  the  room  with  a  wild,  hunted  expression,  and  went 
away  at  the  very  moment  when  their  happiest  hours  were 
wont  to  begin. 

The  following  day  light  was  thrown  upon  the  situation. 

Konrad  came  at  twilight,  paler  than  usual,  his  eyes  shin- 
ing unnaturally. 

** Listen,  darling,'*  he  said,  **I  spent  the  night  thinking 
everything  over,  and  now  I  know  what  I  oup^l^t  to  do.  We 
can 't  go  on  this  way. ' ' 

566 


The  Song  of  Songs  567 

She  thought  he  meant  that  he  must  leave  her.  An  icy 
numbness  spread  over  her  body.  She  looked  at  him  quietly 
awaiting  the  death  blow. 

** Since  we  belong  to  each  other/'  he  continued,  **we  have 
never  spoken  of  your  betrothed.  That  doesn't  mean  I 
didn't  think  of  him.  And  you  have  been  very  reticent 
about  his  friend,  Mr.  Dehnicke.  All  I  know  is  Mr. 
Dehnicke  is  now  off  on  a  trip  and  has  left  you,  so  to  speak, 
without  a  guardian." 

She  forced  herself  to  smile.  Why  did  he  prolong  the 
agony  1 

**I  must  confess,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  happiness,  I  have 
always  felt  that  this  exploiting  of  the  situation  was  noth- 
ing more  nor  less  than  contemptible  so  far  as  I  myself  am 
concerned.  But  I  am  not  the  one  to  be  considered.  The 
question  is:  what  will  become  of  you?  The  thing  I 
dreaded  from  the  very  first  has  come  to  pass :  your  friends 
have  begun  to  notice  us  together.  You  can't  ask  one 
person  not  to  tell  another.  That's  degrading.  So  your 
friend  will  discover  everything.  He  will  call  you  to  ac- 
count, you  will  be  too  proud  to  deny  the  truth,  and  the  end 
of  the  story  will  be  that  you  will  be  left  alone,  utterly  un- 
protected. Because  the  way  things  are  now,  /  haven't 
even  the  right  to  protect  you.  The  thought  of  it  is  sicken- 
ing." 

He  jumped  up,  ran  his  outspread  fingers  through  his 
imaginary  shock  of  hair,  and  tramped  up  and  down. 

Lilly  felt  the  blood  begin  to  course  through  her  veins 
again,  and  with  it  life  and  thought. 

The  dear,  noble,  unsuspecting  boy ! 

She  came  near  bursting  into  laughter.  But  she  re- 
strained herself  and  said : 

**You   can   be   perfectly   calm,    Konai.     Mr.    Dehnicke 


568  The  Song  of  Songs 

won't  find  out,  and  even  if  he  does,  he  won't  believe  it. 
Or  if  he  believes  it,  he  will  take  good  care — " 

She  could  not  continue.  The  great  innocent  eyes 
troubled  her. 

' '  So  you  still  think  he  will—  ? ' ' 

Konrad  also  faltered.  He,  too,  was  unable  to  utter  the 
unspeakable. 

Lilly  regarded  the  buttons  on  her  skirt,  and  said  noth- 
ing. 

**When  is  Mr.  Dehnicke  coming  home  again?'*  he  asked. 

**He's  not  certain.  He's  gone  a- wooing,"  Lilly  replied 
with  a  little  feeling  of  triumph.  She  thought  she  was  say- 
ing something  which  raised  her  above  suspicion  in  the 
future — there  was  still  a  possibility  of  suspicion. 

** Where  is  he  now?" 

**Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

**I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

Lilly  started.     She  could  not  believe  her  ears. 

It  could  not  be.  Either  she  must  have  lost  her  reason, 
or  Konrad. 

*' Don't  be  afraid,"  he  reassured  her.  "I  know  quite 
well  what  I  owe  your  reputation.  But  I  should  like  to  find 
out  at  last  what  he  thinks  of  your  situation.  There's  i 
man  in  the  United  States  whom  you  are  pledged  to,  yet  he 
doesn't  let  himself  be  heard  from.  He  doesn't  come  for 
you.  He  doesn't  write.  Why  doesn't  he  write?  If  he  is 
ignorant  of  your  whereabouts,  he's  perfectly  aware  that 
Mr.  Dehnicke 's  business  is  known  in  Berlin.  You  can't 
be  sure  he's  still  alive.  At  first  I  tried  to  explain  his  si- 
lence in  various  ways.  But  now  I  say  to  myself,  he's  either 
dead  or  as  good  as  dead.  And  are  you  to  consider  your- 
self bound  ?  Should  you  make  your  entire  social  existence 
dependent  upon  a  sort  of  guard  of  honour,  which  has  noth- 


The  Song  of  Songs  569 

ing  more  to  guard?  I'd  like  to  hold  all  this  under  Mr. 
Dehnicke's  nose.  He'll  have  to  answer  me.  Don't  you 
think  he  will?" 

**Konrad  has  less  wordly  knowledge  than  is  permissible," 
thought  Lilly,  pityingly,  and  replied:  *'But  I  don't  un- 
derstand, Konni,  what  right  you  have  to  call  a  stranger 
to  account." 

"That's  my  affair,"  he  rejoined,  tossing  his  head  de- 
fiantly. **I  must  know  if  he  will  set  you  free.  I  won't 
brook  his  playing  the  slave-master  over  you." 

''And  I  won't  brook  your  getting  yourself  into  a  false 
position,"  cried  Lilly  in  reawakened  alarm.  She  already 
heard  blows  and  pistol  shots.  **I  myself  will  speak  to  Mr. 
Dehnicke.  I  will  free  myself,  I  promise  you.  But  you, 
if  you  go  to  him,  what  will  he  think  of  me?  At  best  you 
will  merely  succeed  in  compromising  me." 

He  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height.  His  eyes  flashed 
victoriously. 

**If  a  man  loves  you  and  wants  you  to  be  his  wife,  why 
should  that  compromise  you?" 

It  was  hot  and  murky  when  these  words  were  spoken. 
The  canary  ran  about  on  the  sand  of  his  cage  chirping 
wearily,  his  wings  drooping ;  the  gold  fish  hung  motionless 
behind  their  glass  walls,  and  the  naked  monkey  whined  in 
its  sleep. 

The  slimy  canal  water  reflected  bluish  black  clouds;  a 
storm  hovered  in  the  atmosphere,  and  this  was  the  thunder- 
clap. 

Lilly's  first  sensation  was  one  of  surprise — not  joyous 
surprise,  indeed  not.  Then  came  an  unspeakably  mourn- 
ful cry,  which  no  mortal  ear  heard,  though  all  the  more 
painful  in  its  muteness. 


570  The  Song  of  Songs 

* '  Too  late — a  lost  chance — nothing  to  hope  for — ^no  more 
happiness  on  earth — too  late!'' 

She  leaned  back  on  the  sofa  and  studied  the  ceiling  at- 
tentively and  thoroughly. 

He  was  awaiting  his  answer. 

If  she  lowered  her  eyes,  she  would  have  to  encounter  his 
eyes,  which  ate  into  her  soul.  No  salvation  from  those 
eyes,  no  salvation  from  that  which  must  perforce  come. 

And  he  was  waiting. 

Then  she  heard  her  own  voice,  very  clear  and  very  calm, 
as  if  Mrs.  Jula  were  speaking  in  her  place,  that  little  artist 
of  life  with  the  iron  brow. 

**I  thought,  Konni,  you  and  I  had  agreed  never  to 
marry. ' ' 

**How  can  you  remind  me  of  it?"  he  cried  violently. 
**Did  I  know  how  things  would  turn  out  when  I  said  it? 
Did  I  know  who  you  are  and  what  bliss  and  torture  a  god- 
dess of  a  woman  like  you  can  bestow  on  a  poor  devil? 
Yes,  torture.  I  must  tell  you  everything  to-day.  I'm  at 
my  wit's  end.  There's  a  break  in  my  life.  Everything  is 
torn*  asunder — my  work,  my  thoughts,  my  belief  in  you. 
You  want  to  be  my  good  genius.  Instead  you're  almost 
my  evil  genius.  Don't  be  frightened.  It's  not  your  fault. 
I  am  not  reproaching  you — only  myself,  for  being  so  weak. 
I  want  to  work.  I  must  work.  I  have  assumed  a  number 
of  new  duties.  I  thought  if  duty  came  from  the  outside, 
I  could  force  myself  into  the  right  path.  The  very  reverse 
has  happened.  I'm  growing  stupid  just  from  wrestling 
with  myself.  I  must  bring  peace  into  our  lives,  else  we're 
both  lost.  And  I  can't  have  peace  unless  you  belong  to 
me  altogether,  unless  your  bed  is  next  to  my  bed,  and  the 
desk  is  in  the  next  room,  and  you're  always  with  me." 


The  Song  of  Songs  571 

**I  can  move  to  you  in  the  autumn/'  Lilly  interjected 
timidly. 

* '  No,  nothing  of  that  sort  any  more.  No  self-reproaches, 
no  secretiveness.  Should  I  have  it  on  my  conscience  that 
.each  additional  day  on  which  you  sacrifice  yourself,  you're 
drawing  nearer  to  ruin?  And  it's  bound  to  ruin  you.  It 
will  cling  to  you  like  dirt.  And  why  should  we  create 
dirt  out  of  what  is  most  sacred  to  us?  Or  am  I  not  good 
enough  to  be  your  life-companion  ?  Do  you  think  you  will 
be  too  poor  as  my  wife  ?  " 

She  repudiated  the  idea  with  a  lively  exclamation  of 
scorn. 

* '  I  don 't  know,  and  I  don 't  need  to  know,  how  much  you 
have.  I  am  rich  enough  now.  I  get  three  hundred  marks 
a  month  from  my  uncle ;  Dr.  Salmoni  pays  me  four  hun- 
dred—'' 

Oh,  how  she  started  at  the  name ! 

*'And  I  can  easily  earn  another  three  hundred  by  writ- 
ing articles — in  all  a  thousand  a  month,  a  general's  salary. 
You  may  be  satisfied. ' ' 

*'Keep  quiet,"  she  cried,  almost  beside  herself.  ''It 
isn't  that." 

**Thenwhatisit?" 

He  planted  himself  in  front  of  her  challengingly.  Be- 
tween his  brows  were  those  folds  of  wrath  which  cut  her 
like  a  knife.  She  ducked  her  head.  Never  since  the 
colonel's  time  had  she  experienced  such  fear  of  a  human 
being. 

**Tell  me  what  it  is.  Apparently  you  don't  love  me 
enough.  You  still  cling  to  the  man  who  forgot  you  long 
ago.  You  probably  say  to  yourself:  'The  stupid  boy  is 
good  enough  for  a  passing  love ;  he 's  good  enough  for  whil- 


572  The  Song  of  Songs 

ing  the  time  away.  But  if  he  shows  any  intentions  of  in- 
terfering with  my  life,  I  must  get  rid  of  him  with  all  pos- 
sible speed.'  Am  I  not  right?  Tell  me.  Be  brave! 
What  harm  can  I  do  you?  Just  tell  me  that  I'm  nothing 
but  a  pis  aller,  the  sort  of  man  you  wouldn't  want  as  a 
husband.  When  I've  made  a  name  for  myself,  then  you 
will  be  willing  to  consider  marriage,  too.  Am  I  not  right  ? 
—Well,  then." 

He  picked  up  his  hat  to  go. 

**Have  pity  on  me,  Konni,"  she  implored.  She  had 
glided  down  from  her  seat  to  lay  her  head  on  his  knees, 
and  now  she  crouched  between  the  sofa  and  Konrad's  chair, 
and  groped  for  support. 

**I  don't  need  your  pity,  you  don't  need  mine/'  he  cried. 
** Until  to-day  you've  been  the  noblest  thing  on  earth  to 
me.  But  I  won't  suffer  myself  just  to  be  expunged  from 
your  life.  Tell  me  why  you  don't  want  to  marry  me — one 
plausible  reason,  and  I'll  never  return  to  the  subject  again. 
I  promise  you." 

''Give  me  until  to-morrow,"  she  groaned. 

''Why?  For  what!  To-day  is  as  good  as  to-morrow. 
I've  come  to  the  end  of  my  tether.  I  can't  spend  another 
night  of  torture." 

"I  will  write  to  you." 

That  surprised  him. 

"What  will  you  write?" 

"Whether  I  may  or  not.  And  the  reasons  and  every- 
thing." 

"During  the  night  I'll  manage  to  find  some  way  out," 
she  thought. 

"When  will  I  get  the  letter?" 

"To-morrow  morning  by  the  first  delivery." 

"Very  well.     I  will  wait  until  then.     Good-by,  Lilly." 


The  Song  of  Songs  573 

When  he  helped  her  back  on  the  sofa,  and  held  his  hand 
out  in  farewell,  and  she  saw  his  eyes  fastened  on  her  with 
their  candid,  magnanimous  expression,  which  a  lie  had 
never  clouded — unsuspicious  still — she  was  suddenly  con- 
vinced that  evasion  was  no  longer  possible. 

** Truth!  Nothing  but  the  truth.  Even  if  it  lead  to 
perdition,  Konrad  must  now  be  told  the  truth."  The 
thought  flooded  her  soul  like  a  warm,  soothing  stream. 

But  she  could  not  tell  him  the  truth  face  to  face.  No- 
body would  have  the  strength  of  will  for  that. 

The  reaction  did  not  set  in  until  she  was  left  alone.  The 
impulse  for  self-preservation  asserted  itself.  If  Mrs.  Jula 
could  do  it,  she  could,  too.  Mrs.  Jula  had  much  worse 
things  to  conceal. 

Kichard,  of  course,  would  say  nothing;  which  was  the 
main  consideration.  Now  that  he  wished  to  go  his  own 
way,  it  was  to  his  interest  for  her  to  vanish  decorously 
from  his  life.  The  rest  of  the  **crew'*  might  tattle  to 
their  heart's  content.  Konrad  was  immune  against  their 
poison.  The  only  dangerous  person  was  Dr.  Salmoni.  But 
if  she  went  to  him  soon  and  begged  him,  he,  too,  would 
maintain  silence.  He  had  sufficiently  strong  motives  for 
hushing  his  disgraceful  attempt  upon  her.  Besides,  Mrs. 
Jula  had  said;  *'You  must  wear  a  smile  on  your  brow 
but  beneath  the  smile  your  brow  must  be  of  iron.'' 

Thus  Lilly  revolved  the  situation  in  her  mind. 

But  in  the  midst  of  her  brooding  and  planning  she  was 
seized  with  disgust  of  herself  and  her  intentions,  which  tore 
the  whole  tissue  of  deceit  into  ragged  bits. 

Why,  it  was  sheer  folly  to  think  she  would  always  be 
able  to  play  the  false  part.  If  upon  the  mere  mention  of 
Dr.  Salmoni 's  name  she  dreaded  appearing  on  the  street 
with  Konrad,  how  could  she  go  through  a  lifetime  at  his 


574  The  Song  of  Songs 

side  haunted  by  that  ever-present  fear?  What  repulses 
and  humiliations  she  would  have  to  undergo  whenever 
Konrad  led  her  into  the  society  in  which  as  his  wife  she 
would  belong — she,  whom  the  papers  had  taken  up  and 
treated  as  a  rising  star  in  the  fashionable  demi-monde? 
And,  worst  of  all,  if  Konrad  should  begin  to  suspect! 
How  he  would  eat  his  heart  away  in  shame  and  abhorrence, 
he,  with  his  pride  and  delicate  susceptibilities  and  that 
unworldly  purity  which  alone  accounted  for  the  fact  that 
r\o  surmise  as  to  her  real  life  had  ever  touched  his  soul. 

What  an  awaking  from  a  short,  torturing  dream ! 

No,  she  could  not  do  what  Mrs.  Jula  had  done. 

And  she  threw  far  from  her  the  shameful  thought  with 
which  the  stress  of  the  hour  had  stained  her  wrestling  soul. 

An  exultant  craving  for  self-annihilation  came  over  her, 
the  desire  to  tear  her  breast  open  and  throw  her  throbbing 
heart  at  his  feet. 

So  she  sat  down  and  wrote : 

*  *  My  dear,  sweet  Konni : — 

I  have  shamefully  deceived  you.  I  am  a  prostitute,  or 
something  not  much  better.  The  man  to  whom  I  told  you 
I  was  betrothed  is  a  myth.  He  was  a  little  good-for-noth- 
ing lieutenant.  I  wickedly  broke  my  marriage  vows  for 
his  sake,  and  he  never  thought  of  marrying  me,  but  turned 
me  over  to  his  rich  friend,  who  made  me  his  mistress. 
His  mistress  I  still  am.  I  have  been  living  for  years  in 
the  world  of  vice  and  vulgarity.  I  am  an  outlaw  from 
decent  society.  Hired  mistresses  and  their  lovers  who  pay 
them  form  my  sole  associates.  I  clung  to  you,  because 
you  in  your  innocence  respected  me,  and  because  I,  down 
in  the  mire,  clamoured  for  respect. 


The  Song  of  Songs  575 

Now  you  know  why  I  may  not  be  your  wife.     If  you  de- 
sire my  kisses,  come.     I  am  not  fit  for  anything  else. 

LiUy.'' 


It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock.  Adele  had  gone  to  bed. 
It  occurred  to  Lilly  that  she  would  have  to  go  down  to 
mail  the  letter  herself. 

But  the  storm  that  had  been  impending  the  whole  after- 
noon, was  just  then  giving  full  vent  to  its  fury.  The  rain 
was  coming  down  in  sheets,  and  gusts  of  wind  blew  through 
the  open  window  across  Lilly's  desk. 

Once  a  shower  of  drops  spattered  the  paper,  at  which 
she  was  staring  with  hot,  dry  eyes.  It  looked  as  if  tears 
had  fallen  upon  it  while  she  was  writing. 

**Very  good,"  she  thought. 

Then  she  felt  ashamed.  The  time  for  farce  was  ended. 
But  when  she  started  to  rewrite  the  letter,  she  stopped 
short  with  a  shudder. 

What  did  those  monstrous  self-accusations  signify? 
Were  they  the  truth? 

Perhaps  so  in  the  mouth  of  a  backbiting  woman  who 
needs  facts  about  her  friend  in  order  to  twist  them  into  a 
crime,  or  in  the  mouth  of  one  of  those  social  hangmen 
who  hold  a  halter  in  readiness  for  everybody's  past. 
^  For  herself,  who  knew  how  everything  had  come  about, 
how  from  inner  need  and  outer  compulsion,  from  trust- 
fulness and  def encelessness,  link  after  link  of  the  chain  had 
been  forged  which  now  clanked  about  her  body,  a  burden 
of  sin — for  her  there  was  another,  a  milder  truth,  which 
must  win  pardon  and  atonement  for  her  in  the  eyes  of 
every  person  who  understood. 

She  tore  up  the  sheet,  and  began  anew.     She  draughted 


576  The  Song  of  Songs 

a  sketch,  and  polished  it  until  it  thoroughly  satisfied  her. 

**My  dearly  beloved  friend: — 

She  who  writes  this  letter  to  you  is  a  most  unhappy 
woman,  whom  you  know  only  slightly,  and  who  had  to  de- 
ceive you  until  to-day,  because  what  is  most  sacred  to  her, 
her  love  of  you,  was  at  stake. 

And  now,  with  these  lines,  I  am  losing  that  love.  I  am 
sacrificing  it  to  your  happiness,  to  the  divine  fire  which 
sanctified  my  life. 

The  world  has  treated  me  badly.  It  robbed  me  of  my 
belief  in  man,  my  ideals,  my  will  power;  and  so  deprived 
me  of  the  right  to  go  through  life  at  your  side. 

I  began  my  course  full  of  confidence  and  hope,  pure  to 
the  core  of  my  being.  Each  man  who  stepped  into  my  ex- 
istence broke  off  a  piece  of  my  virtue. 

I  raised  my  eyes  in  devotion  to  my  aging  husband,  who 
promised  to  be  my  hero,  master,  model,  and  idol.  He  con- 
verted me  into  a  tool  of  base  desires. 

Another  man  came,  who  was  young  like  myself  and  had 
been  left  without  ties  like  myself,  and  whom  I  wished  to 
save  while  I  sought  refuge  with  him.  He  took  me  and 
tasted  me.  I  was  a  fascinating  adventure  to  him,  and  in 
the  course  of  his  adventure  he  went  to  perdition. 

He  wrote  a  treacherous  letter  to  a  friend  placing  me 
in  his  care.  That  friend  exploited  my  spiritual  and  phys- 
ical needs  for  his  oWn  advantage,  and  by  a  shameful  trick 
made  me  so  dependent  upon  him  that  for  a  long  time  I 
lived  as  his  -creature  while  thinking  myself  free  and  un- 
touched. Helpless  and  broken  as  I  was  I  became  his  en- 
tirely, nor  ventured  even  to  feel  angry  at  him,  I  was  so 
slavishly  in  his  power — until  now. 

So   my   destiny   was   fulfilled.     I   tried   desperately  to 


The  Song  of  Songs  577 

struggle  out  of  the  dull  night  in  which  my  spirit  was 
enveloped,  but  nowhere  was  there  a  path  leading  up  to 
the  light.  With  ardour  I  seized  each  hand  held  out  to 
help  me,  but  each  thrust  me  still  lower,  until  my  whole 
being  sank  into  a  torpid  state  of  discouragement. 

Then  you  came,  my  beloved,  my  saviour,  my  redeemer! 
It  grew  light  about  me,  the  world  blossomed  forth  again, 
the  drained  sources  began  to  flow  afresh,  the  Song  of 
Songs  resounded. 

And  with  pride  aad  rapture  I  realised  that  nothing 
shameful  had  taken  firm  root  in  my  character,  that  the 
times  of  ignominy  had  passed  over  my  head  without  de- 
stroying my  inner  worth,  my  desire  for  purity,  my  instinct 
for  a  great,  noble  humanity.  These  had  been  merely  dor- 
mant, and  you,  beloved,  awakened  them  to  activity. 

Even  if  I  may  not  be  your  wife — your  wife  should  be 
free  of  stain — I  want  to  be  worthy  of  you,  whether  by  your 
side  or  at  a  distance — wherever  you  tell  me  to  go. 

Long  ago  I  decided  to  shake  off  my  chains,  which,  in 
fact,  have  been  merely  external,  and  with  unencumbered 
limbs  climb  up  to  a  new  life  in  harmony  with  the  de- 
mands of  my  genuine  self.  You  have  pointed  the  way, 
and  in  gratitude  I  kiss  your  dear,  tender,  industrious 
hands. 

^Farewell,  beloved!  If  you  would  chastise  me,  never 
come  again.  If  you  will  and  can  put  up  with  the  love  of 
one  who  loves  you  as  no  other  woman  on  earth  will  love 
you,  then  do  not  turn  me  adrift.  I  have  nothing  to  give 
you  but  what  I  am,  though  that  belongs  to  you  unto  death. 

Lilly.  *' 

She  read  and  reread  the  letter,  and  read  herself  into  a 
state  of  enthusiasm  over  it. 


578  The  Song  of  Songs 

Now  the  truth  wore  quite  a  different  aspect. 

Then  suddenly  the  question  arose  in  her  mind : 

''Is  it  the  truth?" 

Had  she  not  luxuriated  in  choice  words?  Had  she  not 
smuggled  in  high-flown  emotions  foreign  to  her  nature? 
Phrases  like  ''dull  night  in  which  my  spirit  was  enveloped" 
and  ''tried  desperately  to  struggle"  belonged  in  senti- 
mental novels.  They  were  inapplicable  to  her  life.  She 
had  suffered  not  so  much  from  despair  as  from  boredom, 
and  during  that  "dull  night"  she  had  enjoyed  herself 
greatly  on  many  an  occasion.  Richard,  the  good  fellow, 
to  judge  by  her  insinuations,  was  a  rank  despot,  and  she 
herself  a  sorry,  subjugated  victim,  whereas  in  reality  she 
had  been  able  to  do  or  leave  undone  whatever  her  caprice 
dictated. 

It  was  the  truth,  and  yet  it  was  not.  Just  as  much 
and  as  little  as  in  the  first,  dreadful  letter.  Each  was 
correct  enough  in  its  way,  and  many  another  might  have 
been  written  equally  correct;  but  the  truth,  the  genuine 
truth,  which  penetrated  and  illumined  the  whole,  would 
appear  in  none.  That  truth  she  herself  did  not  know,  nor 
did  anybody  else.  That  truth  vanished  with  the  moment 
in  which  an  event  occurred,  and  no  earthly  power  could 
summon  it  back.  All  that  her  words  reflected  were  dis- 
torted images  varying  as  her  mood  varied  and  as  her  pen 
travelled  over  the  paper. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  lie,"  she  cried  to  herself.  "I 
want  to  be  true  to-day." 

So  she  tore  up  the  second  letter  also. 

What  now  ?     Should  she  write  a  third  letter  f 

It  was  long  past  midnight.  Her  eyes  burned.  Her 
temples  throbbed  with  over-exeitement,  and  Konrad  was  to 


The  Song  of  Songs  579 

hear  from   her  by  the  first  mail   in  the  morning.     She 
had  promised  him. 

At  this  point  the  full  force  of  what  had  happened  sud- 
denly struck  her.  She  realised  that  in  the  last  four  hours 
she  had  been  face  to  face  with  the  danger  of  losing  him 
at  once  and  forever. 

She  was  beset  with  an  anguish  of  fear  that  threatened 
to  rob  her  cf  her  senses.  She  cried  his  name  aloud,  ran 
about  the  apartment,  reeled,  knocked  against  the  walls, 
and  wanted  to  throw  herself  from  the  window. 

She  must  go  to  him  forthwith.  That  was  the  one  idea 
she  was  capable  of  grasping.  She  would  have  the  porter 
open  the  front  door;  she  would  wake  Konrad  up,  force 
her  way  into  his  room  and  stay  with  him  that  night 
and  forever.  No  matter  what  the  consequences!  It  was 
all  the  same.  Only  to  rid  herself  of  that  dread  which 
burned  her  body  like  a  living  flame. 

The  storm  had  subsided,  but  the  rain  was  falling  in  a 
steady  downpour.  Lilly  scarcely  took  the  time  to  put  on 
a  cloak. 

In  low  shoes,  without  hat  or  umbrella,  she  dashed 
out  on  the  street  and  splashed  through  the  puddles. 

Light  was  shining  from  the  two  third- storey  windows. 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  cried: 

**Konni,  Konni,  Konni!'* 

Again  and  again. 

But  the  windows  were  closed.     He  did  not  hear  her. 

She  saw  his  figure  glide  back  and  forth  like  a  shadow, 
from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  to  and  fro,  to  and 
fro,  ceaselessly. 

And  all  the  time  the  rain  beat  down  on  her,  soaking 
through  her  clothes,  while  the  cold  wet  of  the  pavement 
crawled  up  her  legs. 


580  The  Song  of  Songs 

**Koniii,  Konni,"  she  called  louder. 

Passersby  offered  her  their  umbrellas;  others  taunted 
her,  and  cried,  **Konni,  Konni.'^ 

At  last  the  shadow  halted.  One  of  the  windows  went 
up. 

** Lilly — you?"  his  voice  called,  hoarse  with  fright. 

"At  last — do  come,  my  sweet  Konni,'*  a  tipsy  man, 
who  had  persistently  held  his  umbrella  over  her,  answered 
in  her  place. 

*^For  God's  sake!'' 

The  light  disappeared  from  the  windows,  and  a  few 
moments  later  Konrad  appeared  in  the  doorway  with  the 
front-door  key  and  his  lamp  in  his  hand. 

The  tipsy  gentleman  said  good-by,  bowing  and  scraping. 

** Lilly — ^what  has  happened?  "What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

She  pressed  against  the  doorpost  trembling.  She  was 
unable  to  speak. 

*  *  I  am  with  him, ' '  was  her  one  thought.     *  *  So  all 's  well. '  * 

He  passed  his  hand  over  her  clothes. 

**Why,  you're  dripping  wet.  You're  in  house  slippers. 
For  God's  sake,  Lilly!" 

She  wanted  to  say  something,  but  was  ashamed  to  let 
him  see  how  her  teeth  were  chattering. 

**And  I  can't  even  take  you  to  my  room.  You  know 
why.  But  I  must.  If  I  were  to  let  you  go  back  home 
again  in  the  state  you're  in,  you  might  catch  your  death 
of  cold.  We  will  be  very  careful — ^just  as  we  were  that 
time.  We  can't  speak  above  a  whisper.  The  girl's  not  out 
of  danger  yet.     Give  me  your  hand.     Come  on." 

With  half -closed  eyes  she  let  herself  be  led  up  the  stairs. 
Her  wet  dress  flapped  against  the  balusters.  She  felt 
she  would  have  to  crouch  down  on  one  of  the  steps  m^ 


The  Song  of  Songs  581 

lie  there  until  the  porter  came  to  sweep  the  dust  and 
dirt  away.  But  each  step  only  took  her  nearer  to  the  fate 
awaiting  her  up  there  in  the  third  storey. 

Then  with  bent  head  she  crept  along  the  corridor  into 
his  room,  where  the  imprisoned  sultriness  of  the  summer 
day  suffocated  her. 

Konrad  pressed  her  into  his  desk  chair.  He  drew  off 
the  soggy  velvet  rags  from  her  feet,  and  brought  her  dry 
stockings;  and  after  peeling  her  wet  dress  from  her  body 
he  wrapped  her  in  his  great  coat  and  blankets. 

She  sat  there  accepting  his  service  without  a  will  of  her 
own.  She  wanted  to  taste  the  delicious  sensation  of  his 
loving  care  of  her  until  the  last  moment. 

She  had  not  said  a  word. 

When  she  had  attempted  to  thank  him,  he  pointed  to  the 
door  leading  to  the  next  room. 

** Speak  very  low,*'  he  said,  his  mouth  close  to  her  ear. 
**The  poor  thing,  it  seems,  is  having  a  good  nigkt  for  the 
first  time.*' 

Languid  pity  awoke  in  Lilly. 

But  she  had  to  talk. 

'* What's  the  matter  with  her?    Tell  me,"  she  breathed. 

He  hesitated. 

**My  landlady  swore  me  to  silence.  But  you're  mine 
now.  You  will  keep  the  secret.  Her  daughter,  her  one 
child,  ran  away  four  months  ago  and  gave  birth  to  a 
baby.  The  mother  went  to  fetch  her  back  home.  She's 
been  hovering  between  life  and  death  for  six  weeks.  She's 
at  last  getting  better." 

**Poor  thing,"  said  Lilly.  And  then  the  consciousness 
of  her  own  misery  came  upon  her  with  redoubled  force. 

**Konni,  Konni,"  she  moaned  on  his  neck.  **Now  it's 
all  over.    I  was  willing  to  starve  with  you,  go  begging 


582  The  Song  of  Songs 

with  you.  But  what's  the  use?  When  once  you  know 
everything — " 

'*That  can't  be  so  very  bad,  darling." 

** About  me.     About  my  life — my  past." 

With  a  little  jerk  he  freed  himself  and  sat  down  opposite 
her. 

The  look  of  questioning  and  terrified  presentiment  that 
congealed  his  pale  face,  seeming  to  turn  it  into  a  mask, 
filled  her  with  fright,  such  fright  as  she  had  never  ex- 
perienced, because  it  was  not  on  her  own  behalf;  she  was 
afraid  of  converting  her  own  pain  into  his  pain. 

*'I  wanted  to  write  it  to  you — just  the  way  it  was,  but 
I  couldn't.  It  turned  out  wrong  while  I  wrote.  So  I 
came  to  you  before  morning.  If  you  want,  I  will  tell  you 
now — everything — ' ' 

She  could  not  continue.  She  turned  her  face  aside  and 
buried  it  on  the  desk. 

*'Why  don't  you  speak?" 

Konrad  had  quite  forgotten  the  need  for  quiet,  and 
both  of  them  shrank  at  the  sudden  sound  of  his  voice. 
** She's  probably  asleep,"  he  said  lowering  his  voice  again. 
**Now  tell  me!    What  can  it  be?" 

He  breathed  heavily  under  the  growing  oppression  of 
his  soul. 

She  began  to  speak.  In  a  whisper,  her  upper  body  in- 
clined toward  him,  she  tried  to  tell  him  the  things  for 
which  she  had  not  been  able  to  find  words  in  her  own  home. 

The  truth  did  not  come  out  this  time  either.     She  felt  it. 

Less,  much  less  of  it,  than  her  letters  would  have  given 
him.  To  distress  him  with  every  detail — never!  No 
power  in  the  world  could  have  driven  her  to  that. 

Her  life  became  a  long  list  of  martyrdoms — a  funeral 
procession  draped  in  black — insults,  humiliations,  mortifi- 


The  Song  of  Songs  583 

cations — ^an  imprisonment  without  a  ray  of  light  or  mercy 
— and  all  the  time  a  constant  struggle  for  deliverance — a 
noble  withdrawal  into  herself — a  dismal  sacrifice  for  noth- 
ing. 

She  talked  and  talked. 

He  listened,  with  wide-open  eyes.  But  when  she  uttered 
the  name  she  had  no  right  to  omit,  '*Dr.  Salmoni,"  he 
started  and  shrank  back. 

Both  of  them,  had  completely  forgotten  the  sick  girl  in 
the  next  room. 

Sometimes  Lilly  had  to  wipe  tears  away,  sometimes  she 
grew  indignant;  now  she  ventured  to  glide  by  difficult 
points,  now  she  lingered  over  touching  self-reproaches. 

*  *  It  is  the  truth  after  all, ' '  she  said  to  herself  defiantly, 
yet  in  fear,  as  she  drew  near  the  end  of  her  narrative. 

It  was  the  truth  in  so  far  as  it  was  a  resume  of  the  good 
in  her,  the  truth  as  it  might  take  shape  in  his  troubled 
mind,  regardless  of  fact — and  this  truth,  too,  had  its  rights. 

Silence  ensued. 

Her  guilty  look  glided  past  him  and  rested  on  the  photo- 
graph on  the  desk,  which  leered  at  her  with  its  crafty, 
worldly  eyes,  as  if  to  say : 

*'My  child,  I  know  you  much  better  than  you  do  your- 
self.'^ 

Something  familiar  and  confidential  lay  in  them,  like  a 
reflection  of  the  merry  world  which  a  moment  ago  had 
seemed  to  her  the  abode  of  torture. 

She  did  not  venture  to  remove  her  gaze  from  those 
omniscient  eyes,  which  smilingly  examined  and  disrobed 
her,  and  killed  her  last  shy  hope. 

The  unbroken  silence  in  the  room  became  a  burden. 

Suddenly  Konrad  and  Lilly  heard  a  low  moan.  It 
came  from  the  next  room,  where  the  sick  girl  lay,  who^ 


584  The  Song  of  Songs 

because  of  her  secret  sin,  had  been  wrestling  with  her  poor 
life  for  weeks.  The  next  instant  the  sound  was  partially- 
stifled,  as  if  she  had  stuck  a  handkerchief  into  her  mouth. 
Then  it  broke  out  again  all  the  more  violently.  Anxious 
words  of  comfort  mingled  with  the  groans.  They  came 
from  the  mother,  who  probably  slept  in  the  farther  room, 
and  had  come  in  to  find  out  the  cause  of  her  daughter's 
outburst  of  grief. 

Konrad's  and  Lilly's  eyes  met. 

**She  heard  everything,'*  their  look  said. 

For  a  brief  instant  the  stranger's  unhappiness  caused 
them  to  forget  their  own.  The  great  flood  of  the  world's 
suffering  poured  over  them  easing  the  sting  of  guilt  and 
drowning  their  personal  pain. 

The  sobbing  in  the  next  room  was  muffled  under  pillows. 

**My  own  darling,"  the  comforting  voice  implored,  and 
each  tone  swelled  with  love.  ** Don't  worry.  It  isn't  so 
bad.  We  will  take  the  little  baby.  Even  if  he  doesn  't 
marry  you,  what  difference  does  it  make?  Think  of  it, 
we  have  the  baby!  And  then  it  will  smile  at  you  and 
say  mama.     You  see,  it  isn't  so  dreadful." 

The  sobbing  quieted  down,  and  turned  into  a  heavy 
breathing,  the  first  earnest  of  peace. 

' '  Oh, ' '  thought  Lilly,  ' '  it  must  be  good  to  have  someone 
say:  *It's  not  so  dreadful.'  " 

Nobody  would  say  that  to  her. 

A  burning  desire  to  be  petted  and  comforted,  like  the 
young  sinner  next  door,  arose  in  her. 

*  *  She  has  her  mother, ' '  she  groaned,  bursting  into  tears, 
"but  whom  have  I?" 

Konrad  leaned  over  and  took  he  •  hands  from  her  face. 
His  troubled  eyes  shone  with  such  infinite  loving  kindness 
that  they  seemed  not  to  be  of  this  world. 


The  Song  of  Songs  585 

'*Am  I  not  here?''  he  asked. 

**What  can  you  do  for  meV  she  complained.  *'How 
can  you  bear  me?'' 

There  were  no  sounds  from  the  other  room  any  more. 

Now  the  mother  also  knew  that  Konrad  had  a  visitor  at 
that  late  hour. 

'^Jjisten,"  he  whispered,  his  mouth  close  to  her  ear 
again,  **We  mustn't  talk  much  more.  Besides,  my  head's 
in  a  whirl.  But  there's  one  thing  I  see  clearly:  how 
ridiculous  everything  called  guilt  is  when  two  people  love 
each  other,  and  when  one  has  suffered  like  you.  You  have 
always  been  a  saint  to  me,  and  you  shall — continue  to  be 
in  the  future.*' 

** Future,"  Lilly  faltered,  starting  up  anxiously,  *'what 
sort  of  c.  future?" 

He  wiped  his  forehead,  yellow  and  dank  with  sweat. 

**I  don't  know,"  he  said.  **A11  I  know  is  I  can't  live 
without  you." 

She  closed  her  eyes.     She. wanted  to  dream  longer. 

**To  be  sure,  it  cannot  Ibe  what  we  wanted."  She 
noticed  the  hesitating,  dragging  gait  of  his  speech. 
** Everything,  of  course — ^will  have  to  be  different." 

**Your  life  must  not  be  different — it  ought  not  to  be 
different." 

**You  can't  blink  facts,  darling.  Of  course,  I  don't 
know  where  we  will  live.  But  we'll  manage  to  find  some 
spot  on  the  globe  where  nobody  knows  us." 

Now  she  understood. 

And  forgetting  herself  and  the  sick  girl  and  everything 
around  she  sank  down  at  his  feet  with  a  cry  and  sobbed: 

**I  don't  want  you  to — ^you  mustn't.  You're  entirely 
too  young.  You  don't  know  the  world.  You  don't 
know  what  you're  doing.    I  don't  want  the  sacrifice.    I 


586  The  Song  of  Songs 

don't  want  to  ruin  you.    I  love  you  too  much  for  that/' 

He  bent  her  head  back  and  stroked  her  hair  from  her 
forehead. 

If  only  his  eyes  had  not  shone  with  that  suffering  lov- 
ing kindness. 

The  unhappiness  of  a  lifetime  already  glowed  in  them. 

**If  the  question  of  sacrifice  enters,"  he  said,  **then  I 
must  ask  a  sacrifice  of  you.  Will  you  make  it  for  my 
sake?'' 

*' Everything,  everything!    Shall  I  die?     Tell  me." 

**I  want  only  one  thing  of  you.  Come  to  me  as  you  are. 
Don't  bring  a  single  possession  of  yours  with  you.  Never 
return,  not  once,  to  your — ^to  that  apartment.  From  this 
moment  on  nothing  of  all  that  is  to  be.  Will  you  promise 
me?" 

Lilly  battled  against  violent  alarm. 

Not  to  return  home!  Never  to  see  her  dear  drawing- 
room  again;  never  to  feed  the  little  canary  or  Peter — 
never ! 

An  ugly  feeling,  that  such  a  sacrifice  was  rank  folly, 
came  and  went  again,  as  if  a  daub  of  dirt  had  been  flung 
upon  her,  and  immediately  been  wiped  away.  Then  she 
decided  hastily,  and  replied: 

''Yes,  I  promise." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath. 

*'Now  we  will  be  perfectly  quiet,"  he  said.  **The  pa- 
tient ought  to  sleep,  and  to-morrow  morning  I'll  explain 
the  matter  to  my  landlady." 

*'But  what  is  to  become  of  your  great  work?"  Lilly 
asked,  self-reproach  rising  up  in  her  again. 

A  melancholy  smile  passed  over  his  face. 

•*Who  knows?    That  will  depend  upon  my  uaele.     If 


The  Song  of  Songs  587 

he  gives  his  consent,  we  can  live  as  we  please.  Every- 
thinf  will  be  all  right." 

**But  if  he  doesn't?" 

Konrad's  right  hand,  which  had  been  gliding  ceaselessly 
from  her  forehead  to  the  nape  of  her  neck,  for  an  instant 
pressed  her  head  painfully  as  if  to  fetch  strength  for  the 
approaching  life  struggle  from  closer  contact. 

**That  will  be  all  right,  too,"  he  said  and  smiled  again. 

A  little  while  later  she  lay  at  his  side  in  the  narrow 
bed,  the  edge  of  which  cut  her  body.  She  put  her  head 
under  his  shoulder,  and  with  both  arms  clasped  his  body, 
as  always  in  her  distress  when  she  sought  protection  with 
him. 

But  this  time  she  slept,  and  he  kept  watch. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Mrs.  Laue  was  not  a  little  astonished  when  one  day  her 
former  tenant,  the  grande  dame,  appeared  at  her  door  in 
an  ill-fitting  alpaca  suit  and  a  sailor  hat,  trimmed  with  a 
green  band,  begging  for  admittance. 

The  young  lady  tenant  of  the  year  had  just  been  mar- 
ried, and  the  best  room  was  vacant. 

Thus,  it  came  about  that  Mrs.  Laue^s  red  plush  furni- 
ture once  more  cast  a  fiery  glow  upon  Lilly's  life. 

The  photographs  of  famous  mimes  smirked  upon  her 
patronisingly.  And  while  performing  her  morning  toilet, 
she  was  admonished : 

To  keep  your  body  clean,  be  sure 
To  have  your  conscience  just  as  pure. 

The  way  Konrad  looked  out  for  her  was  touching.  He 
instantly  drew  all  his  money  from  the  bank,  five  hundred 
marks,  and  himself  went  to  buy  an  outfit  for  her,  since  she 
could  not  appear  on  the  street  in  the  garments  she  had 
worn  when  she  had  come  to  him. 

He  had  let  the  salesladies  persuade  him  into  buying  the 
absurdest  things.  Lilly  would  have  split  her  sides  laugh- 
ing over  them,  if  they  had  not  represented  a  goodly  por- 
tion of  his  money. 

The  shoddy  dress  struck  her  as  a  temporary  masquerade ; 
and  nothing  in  the  world  would  have  induced  her  to  wear 
it  outside  the  house. 

Mrs.  Laue  shook  her  head  dubiously. 

**When  70U  ciQved  away  frona  here  four  years  ago,  you 

588 


The  Song  of  Songs  ^589 

had  the  finest  gowns  and  brooches  and  bracelets  and  all 
sorts  of  things ;  and  now  you  come  back  in  rags.  It  seems 
to  me  you  're  on  the  wrong  road,  Lilly  dear. ' ' 

Konrad  found  as  little  favour  in  Mrs.  Laue's  eyes. 

**He's  too  young  for  you,  and  not  stylish  enough. 
Maybe  he  has  ideal  sentiments — if  he  hadn  't  he  would  snap 
his  fingers  at  you.  But  I  tell  you,  ideal  sentiments  always 
go  hand  in  hand  with  trouble. '* 

Lilly  thought  the  old  woman's  chatter  abominable.  But 
for  lack  of  something  better  to  do  during  the  daytime — 
Konrad  was  busy  and  could  not  come  until  evening — she 
again  took  to  pasting  flowers  in  Mrs.  Laue  's  company. 
Occasionally  it  seemed  to  her  she  had  never  gone  away 
from  her. 

Lilly  had  written  to  Adele  the  very  first  day,  without, 
of  course,  mentioning  her  address.  She  told  her  not  to 
be  troubled  by  her  absence,  and  to  attend  to  the  apart- 
ment as  usual  until  Mr.  Dehnicke's  return. 

It  was  more  difficult  to  pen  her  farewell  to  her  old  friend. 
She  said  nothing  of  Konrad.  For  the  present  her  engage- 
ment was  to  be  kept  a  secret.  She  gave  as  the  sole  cause 
for  her  flight  her  irresistible  desire  at  last  to  live  a  different 
life.  She  also  referred  to  her  wish  not  to  stand  in  the  way 
of  his  future,  and  wound  up  with  cordial  words,  which 
robbed  separation  of  its  bitterness. 

When  she  read  the  letter  over,  she  felt  a  genuine  pang, 
at  which  she  was  a  bit  ashamed. 

The  days  passed. 

The  new  life  that  had  been  the  dream  of  her  dreams  for 
years  had  begun,  freighted  with  boundless  confidence,  such 
as  she  had  not  ventured  to  hope  for  in  her  wildest  fancy- 
ings. 

With   her   sins   washed   away,    redeemed,    reborn,   she 


590  The  Song  of  Songs 

stepped  back  into  virtuous  society  at  the  side  of  the  be- 
loved man,  whom  only  a  few  days  before,  it  would  have  been 
arrogance,  sacrilege  to  wish  to  possess. 

Who  would  have  believed  it? 

And  yet  Lilly  was  unable  to  attain  to  perfect  enjoyment 
of  her  unspeakable  happiness. 

No  matter  how  often  she  told  herself  it  was  nothing  but 
a  transition  period,  soon  to  pass,  the  misery  of  her  old 
quarters,  the  poor-peoples'  odour,  the  spiritual  mustiness 
that  pervaded  the  place,  bad  food,  the  lack  of  suitable 
clothes,  money  and  service,  all  this  worked  upon  her  suf- 
ficiently to  delude  her  into  the  belief  that  instead  of  ris- 
ing to  new  honours,  she  was  suddenly  sinking  from  splen- 
dour and  brilliance  to  a  dull,  dead  level. 

No  matter  that  she  found  fault  with  herself  for  this 
ungrateful  frame  of  mind,  the  fact  was,  the  feeling  was 
there,  and  she  could  not  dismiss  it. 

And  how  account  for  it  that  five  years  before  when  she 
had  descended  from  the  genuine  heights  of  life,  delicately 
nurtured,  a  spoiled  darling,  accustomed  to  luxury  and  at- 
tention, such  as  is  granted  to  few  persons  in  the  world,  she 
had  scarcely  suffered  from  the  wretchedness  of  these  sur- 
roundings 1  In  fact,  though  utterly  without  prospects,  she 
had  felt  tolerably  secure.  But  now  that  the  idle  comfort 
of  a  vapid  existence  fortunately  lay  behind  her,  and  her 
beloved  walked  by  her  side  ready  to  throw  open  the  gates 
to  a  happiness  she  had  never  divined,  she  was  unable  to 
breathe  among  the  red  plush  chairs.  Trifles  annoyed  her, 
and  she  hankered  for  a  bathroom  and  a  hairdresser. 

Something  must  have  departed  from  her  during  those 
years.  She  thought  and  thought,  but  failed  to  discover 
what  it  was. 


The  Song  of  Songs  591 

Added  to  all  these  troubles  was  her  worry  over  Konrad  's 
condition. 

Whenever  her  soul  conjured  up  his  image,  her  heart 
throbbed  with  mingled  sensations — secret  pangs  of  con- 
science, longings  for  atonement,  reproaches,  not  to  be 
stilled,  of  herself  and — why  conceal  it? — of  Konrad  also. 

Her  yearning  for  him  no  longer  had  a  quality  of  joyous- 
ness ;  and  yet,  she  was  ever  expectant  of  a  letter  from  him 
by  the  pnuematic  tube. 

If  he  wrote,  he  said  too  little;  and  if  he  sent  no  mes- 
sage at  all  she  felt  angry,  though  she  well  knew  he  had 
not  a  second  to  spare  for  her  during  the  day,  and  was 
drudging  as  never  before  in  his  life. 

He  would  come  at  last  between  eight  and  nine  in  the 
evening ;  and  then  loaded  with  papers  and  books.  He  had 
manuscripts  to  read,  proofs  to  look  over,  and  letters  to  an- 
swer. He  scarcely  took  time  to  eat,  and  while  he  snatched 
a  few  bites,  troubled  recollections  of  things  he  had  for- 
gotten during  the  day  kept  flashing  up  in  his  harassed 
brain. 

There  was  no  thought  of  amorous  nights.  As  a  rule  Kon- 
rad fell  asleep  in  the  midst  of  work. 

As  he  reclined  there  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  Lilly  could 
appreciate  how  tired  and  worn  he  was.  He  no  longer  cared 
for  his  person.  His  clothes  hung  on  him  unpressed,  and 
in  place  of  the  velvety  sheen  on  his  cheeks,  which  had  been 
her  delight,  she  saw  dark  boils  and  coarse  stubble. 

She  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to  learn  what  he 
thought  of  her  in  the  depths  of  his  soul.  But  she  could 
extract  nothing  from  him.  He  remained  mute,  with  glow- 
ing eyes,  and  lips  tightly  compressed. 

Certainly  she  had  no  right  to  doubt  him.     She  knew 


592  The  Song  of  Songs 

that  he  spent  every  spare  minute  trying  to  arrange  for  their 
life  in  the  future. 

In  Buenos  Ayres  the  position  of  a  high  school  teacher  of 
German  was  vacant;  the  same  in  Caracas;  and  he  could 
even  become  a  university  professor,  though  of  course  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  All  he  needed  to  do  was 
present  a  few  letters  of  recommendation  from  well-known 
professors. 

Such  efforts,  however,  were  necessary  only  in  case  his 
uncle  refused  his  consent  to  Konrad's  marriage  with  Lilly, 
and  dropped  his  disobedient  heir. 

If  he  said  yes,  if  he  furnished  the  means  for  their  house- 
hold, they  could  live  aloof  from  the  world  wherever  they 
wished,  wherever  conditions  were  best  adapted  for  the  pre- 
cious work. 

Konrad  had  immediately  written  to  his  uncle  about  his 
engagement,  and  told  of  Lilly's  past  in  the  most  touch- 
ing words.  He  had  not  concealed  the  stains  on  her  life, 
but  he  brought  out  strongly  her  fine  qualities,  the  virginity 
Df  her  soul,  her  nobility,  her  rich  intellectual  endowments, 
the  number  of  her  ideal  interests. 

After  he  had  sent  off  the  letter,  he  read  to  Lilly  a 
few  passages  from  the  draught  of  it.  It  was  a  bold  docu- 
ment of  revolutionary  ideas. 

**I  know  that  /  and  you,  too,  are  raised  above  the  nar- 
row conventions  of  philistinism,  above  the  merciless  judg- 
ments of  social  court-martials,  above  a  Pharisaism  which 
constitutes  itself  the  watchdog  of  morality,  and  which  with 
its  code  of  formal,  pedantic  family  relationships  knocks 
to  the  ground  all  aspirations  for  free,  high-minded  conduct. 
You  have  lived  in  many  parts  of  the  world,  and  you  have 
learned  to  know  how  mutable  moral  laws  are  everywhere, 
how  hollow  the  pretence  of  regarding  each  as  the  sole  God- 


The  Song  of  Songs  593 

ordained  dogma,  you  know  the  sly,  hypocritical  paths 
and  by-ways  by  which  one  manages  to  escape  their 
tyranny,  and  you  know  that  in  the  province  of  ethics  there 
is  only  one  thing  which  commands  respect  and  admiration : 
the  will  to  kallokagathia,  to  that  form  of  life  in  which  the 
noblemen  of  all  times  combined  the  beautiful  with  the 
good.  Yes,  beautiful  and  good.  That  is  what  Lilly  is, 
her  aspirations,  and  sufferings/' 

How  glorious! 

Who  could  be  dull  enough  to  resist  such  words? 

That  is  what  Lilly  said  to  comfort  Konrad  when  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  immediate  future  weighed  upon  him  heavily. 

Five  days  passed  before  the  answer  came  upon  which  de- 
pended the  weal  or  woe  of  two  human  beings. 

In  reading  it,  Lilly  saw  the  crafty  eyes  of  the  photograph 
turned  upon  her  as  if  the  old  man  stood  there  in  person. 

**My  dear  boy: — 

I  don 't  understand  anything  about  kallokagathia  or  simi- 
lar phrases.  It's  nearly  half  a  century  ago,  since  I  ran 
away  from  school.  But  I  flatter  myself  that  I  can  measure 
things  pretty  accurately  with  my  eyes,  and  size  people 
up  by  their  faces,  whether  striking  a  bargain  or  on  the 
Yoshiwara,  whether  on  the  various  exchanges  or  at  bac- 
carat. Which  did  not  keep  me  from  being  fleeced,  or  my 
life  from  being  a  series  of  stupidities,  especially  in  regard  to 
Women.  Once  I  wanted,  whether  or  no,  to  bring  along  a 
young  Circassian,  because  her  eyebrows  met  prettily;  and 
once  I  wanted  to  marry  a  little  Musme  because  she  mas- 
saged my  legs  so  well,  etc.  I  won't  say  anything  of  my 
various  attempts  to  save  souls,  because  everybody  goes 
through  that. 

However,  the  god  of  old  rogues  and  bachelors — perhaps 


594  The  Song  of  Songs 

with  your  classical  knowledge  you  can  tell  me  his  name — 
mercifully  kept  any  of  my  plans  from  maturing. 

But  your  case  seems  to  be  essentially  different.  If  it's 
really  as  you  say,  if  your  betrothed  is  really  such  a  paragon 
of  virtues — the  world  is  full  of  surprises — and,  chief  of 
all,  if  she  does  not  pose  as  a  repentant  Magdalene  and  bank 
upon  your  pity,  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  tweak  Mr. 
Respectability's  nose  and  give  you  my  cordial  blessing. 

But  if  your  intentions  bear  a  certain  family  resemblance 
to  my  own  in  the  past,  then  pardon  me  if  I  refuse  to 
shoulder  the  responsibility  for  what  you  are  pleased  to 
call  your  ''future,"  even  with  this  in  view,  and  if  I  feel 
compelled  to  beg  you  kindly  to  break  off  your  connections 
with  me. 

In  order  to  settle  the  matter  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  I 
will  be  in  Berlin  day  after  to-morrow ;  and  I  herewith  ask 
you  and  your  betrothed  to  keep  the  evening  free  for  your 
old  uncle.  As  I  do  not  know  where  you  metropolitans 
dine  and  drink,  I  will  have  to  let  you  know  the  place  of 
our  meeting  after  I  reach  Berlin. 

Until  then, 

Yours  faithfully, 

Uncle  Rennschmidt. " 

For  the  first  time  in  that  gloomy  period  Lilly  saw  Kon- 
rad's  face  relax  with  a  smile  of  relief. 

"If  that's  his  attitude,  then  there's  no  danger,"  he 
said.  **He  will  have  to  drop  his  distrust  at  the  very  first 
glance.  Who  in  the  world  can  withstand  you?  You  just 
have  to  be  a  little  pleasant  to  him,  and  he'll  be  your 
adorer." 

But  Lilly  had  her  private  opinion. 

Yes,  if  she  had  her  former  wardrobe  to  choose  from, 


The  Song  of  Songs  595 

perhaps  she  might  be  sure  of  presenting  the  appearance 
she  should  to  his  uncle.  But  in  either  one  of  her  two 
ridiculous  shop-girl  dresses,  which  she  had  to  pin  painstak- 
ingly before  she  could  wear  them,  without  jewellery,  or  the 
thousand  little  appurtenances  of  a  fine  toilet,  from  where, 
in  such  circumstances,  was  she  to  summon  the  self-con- 
fidence that  would  force  the  shrewd  old  woman  connoisseur 
to  capitulate? 

**I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  have  some  of  your  money  for 
getting  an  evening  costume,'*  she  said  hesitatingly. 

He  acquiesced  with  pleasure.  She  was  to  have  whatever 
she  still  needed,  and  a  hat  with  plumes  and  a  lace  mantilla, 
just  like  the  one  she  had  had. 

All  this  for  two  hundred  and  sixty  marks. 

This,  the  entire  sum  he  had  left,  was  what  he  handed 
over  to  her  for  her  new  purchases. 

The  dear  boy,  what  sort  of  an  idea  did  he  have  of 
fashionable  dressing? 

After  he  left  she  carefully  considered  ways  and  means. 

While  she  wore  herself  out  devising  methods  of  patching 
up  some  sort  of  costume,  the  most  glorious  dresses  hung 
by  the  dozens  in  her  old  closets,  dresses  which  Konrad  had 
not  seen,  because  he  had  never  gone  to  any  festive  gath- 
ering with  her.  The  lace  mantilla  which  had  cost  a  small 
fortune  was  also  there,  and  goodness  knows  what  else! 

But  with  all  her  might  she  cast  the  temptation  from  her. 
She  had  given  him  her  word  of  honour. 

She  might  deceive  everybody  else  in  the  world,  but  not 
Konrad. 

So  she  decided  to  go  on  a  shopping  expedition  the  next 
morning  and  see  whether  she  could  not  ferret  out  a  good 
garment  at  Gerson's  or  Wertheim's  in  the  reduced  stock. 

But  she  was  known  in  the  shops,  and  the  salespeople 


596  a?he  Song  of  Songs 

had  had  the  experience  that  despite  her  economy  she  always 
bought  nothing  but  the  very  best.  How  they  would  stare 
if  she  appeared  at  the  counter  in  her  tawdry  trash. 

No,  with  the  best  intentions  she  could  not  place  herself 
in  so  distressing  a  situation. 

She  pondered  a  long  time,  but  her  thoughts  kept  return- 
ing to  those  wardrobes  where  her  exquisite  treasures  re- 
posed, and  silently  offered  a  wide  choice. 

But  nowhere  a  little  back  door  to  slip  through ;  nowhere 
a  pretext  for  lessening  the  gravity  of  the  offence. 

Despite  all  these  vexations,  the  night  passed  in  caressing 
dreams,  Hghted  by  newly  arisen  hope. 

And  as  always  when  Lilly 's  frame  of  mind  in  sleep  was 
healthy,  she  felt  she  was  being  peacefully  rocked  to  the 
rhythm  of  familiar  melodies.  She  recognised  the  **  Moon- 
light Sonata,'*  and  Grieg's  **Ung  Birken,"  and  the  motifs 
of  the  Rhine  Daughters,  and  mingling  with  them  all  the 
Song  of  Songs. 

As  she  was  coming  out  of  her  sleep  in  the  morning,  she 
still  heard:  **Come,  my  beloved,  let  us  go  forth  into  the 
field.'' 

Suddenly  with  an  exclamation  of  fright  she  sat  up  in 
bed. 

The  Song  of  Songs — ^the  score — her  treasure — ^her  legacy; 
— ^where  was  it?  In  the  drawing-room  secretaire — buried, 
forgotten. 

Not  to  have  thought  of  it  once! 

Now  there  was  no  possibility  of  abiding  by  her  promise. 
If  she  had  kept  her  wits  about  her  that  momentous  night, 
she  would  never  have  given  it. 

She  had  been  at  a  loss  for  a  pretext,  and  here  she  had  a 
justification. 


The  Song  of  Songs  597 

She  did  not  experience  the  slightest  pangs  of  conscience. 
It  was  a  sacred  cause  that  she  was  upholding. 

By  eight  o'clock  she  was  already  on  her  way  to  her 
former  home. 

The  sunny  haze  of  the  red  August  morning  floated 
up  to  the  violet-coloured  heavens;  sooty  drops  fell  from 
the  yellowing  trees,  and  the  wires  of  the  electric  trams 
sang  their  stormy  song. 

Lilly  joined  the  group  of  people  at  the  nearest  stopping 
place,  which  from  minute  to  minute  waxed  and  dwindled. 
While  waiting  for  a  car  to  convey  her  to  the  distant  west 
side,  she  looked  about  in  all  directions  to  see  whether  by 
chance  Konrad  was  coming  down  the  street. 

In  the  car  she  sat  with  a  newspaper  held  close  to  her 
face,  and  on  the  short  path  along  the  canal  she  slipped 
from  tree  to  tree  like  a  wild  animal  seeking  cover. 

At  last  she  reached  her  house. 

The  porter,  who  was  sweeping  the  front,  greeted  her 
with  a  shout  of  surprise.  The  green-grocer  smiled  a  mis- 
chievous greeting  up  to  ber  from  his  cellar  door,  and  his 
two  urchins,  in  whose  mind  Lilly  was  connected  with 
sweets,  hung  to  her  skirt  with  happy  little  noises. 

All  this  instantly  produced  a  sensation  of  returning 
home. 

Adele  was  still  asleep.  Why  should  she  not  be?  She 
had  nothing  to  do. 

When  she  opened  the  door,  she  showed  the  greatest  de- 
light. She  even  wept  great  tears,  and  Lilly  suddenly  real- 
ised what  she  was  losing  in  her. 

Everything  shone  spick  and  span  in  the  morning  sun- 
light.   Even  the  flowers  had  been  kept  watered. 

The  canary  beat  his  wings  by  way  of  greeting,  and 


598  The  Song  of  Songs 

Peter  wanted  to  break  the  bars  of  his  cage  to  reach  Lilly's 
shoulder. 

She  did  not  know  to  whom  or  to  what  to  turn  first 
from  sheer  love,  nor  what  question  to  ask  first. 

Three  letters  and  two  telegrams  lay  on  the  card  tray. 

The  letters  were  in  Richard's  writing.  The  telegrams 
were  directed  to  Adele  and  urgently  inquired  for  Lilly's 
address. 

But  after  sending  these  missives,  Mr.  Dehnicke,  Adele 
informed  her,  had  given  up  his  affairs  in  Harzburg  and  re- 
turned to  Berlin.  He  had  inserted  advertisements  for  her 
in  the  papers,  and  came  every  day  at  the  usual  hour  to 
find  out  if  they  had  met  with  success.  Then  he  sat  on 
his  customary  seat,  very  quiet,  drinking  tea  and  smoking 
cigarettes  until  the  time  for  returning  to  his  office. 

**Did  you  tell  him  about  Dr.  Rennschmidt  ? " 

"What  do  you  think  of  me,  Mrs.  Czepanek?  Do  you 
suppose  I  don't  know  how  to  look  out  for  my  mistress's 
honour  ?  But  the  best  thing  would  be  if  you  were  to  come 
back  and  behave  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  That 's  what 
all  my  ladies  used  to  do." 

Lilly  asked  her  to  fetch  from  the  basement  the  smaller 
of  the  two  leather  trunks,  explaining  that  she  wished  to 
take  a  few  of  her  old  possessions  with  her. 

After  Adele  had  swung  herself  out  of  the  room  sulking, 
Lilly  gathered  up  Konrad's  letters  from  the  secret  drawer 
in  which  she  had  hidden  them,  and  then  ran  hastily  to  her 
large  wardrobe,  from  which  she  pulled  out  all  her  dresses 
and  threw  them  on  the  bed  in  order  to  select  whatever 
might  be  of  use  to  her. 

At  last  the  Song  of  Songs  occurred  to  her. 

She  opened  the  secretaire. 

The  score,  which  had  dreamed  away  its  aimless  existence 


The  Song  of  Songs  599 

for  years  in  the  back  part  of  the  lowest  drawer,  had  ac- 
quired a  strange  aspect. 

The  rubber  band  about  it  was  sticky,  and  fell  to  bits 
when  Lilly  wanted  to  undo  the  roll. 

The  sheets  glided  from  her  hand  and  flew  over  the 
carpet  one  by  one. 

There  they  all  lay — the  arias  and  recitatives,  the  duos 
and  orchestral  interludes — ^mingled  and  confused,  and  on 
top  the  turtle  dove  solo  for  the  clarionet,  which  she  had 
sung  with  her  mother  while  still  a  lisping  babe. 

She  looked  at  the  scattered  leaves  in  dismay. 

They  had  turned  yellow  and  mouldy.  Many  of  them 
were  plastered  with  blood,  her  own  blood,  which  had  squirted 
from  the  knife  wound  her  mother  had  inflicted,  and  cov- 
ered large  spots  with  black  and  reddish  brown  stains. 
Some  of  the  stains  had  been  eaten  into  holes,  the  work 
of  the  mice  at  Lischnitz. 

So  there  it  was — her  Song  of  Songs. 

Nevermore  any  hope.  No  rock  of  salvation  for  the 
future — no  faithful  Eckhardt  in  lifers  stress,  and  no  guide 
to  golden  heights!  A  mere  weather-beaten  remnant,  worn, 
though  unused,  honourable  ballast  which  one  drags  along 
for  unknown  reasons — a  light  extinguished,  a  piece  of  wis- 
dom without  sense. 

Shrugging  her  shoulders,  she  kneeled  on  the  floor,  and 
gathered  up  the  thin  rolls  hastily,  without  regard  for  their 
order. 

'*I  can  arrange  them  some  other  time,'*  she  thought, 
though  a  faint  doubt  arose  within  her  whether  she  ever 
would. 

Adeie  came  with  the  trunk.  It  had  taken  her  an  extraor- 
dinary length  of  time.  She  replied  to  Lilly  *s  questions 
in  a  confused  way,  and  glanced  at  the  clock  furtively. 


600  The  Song  of  Songs 

She  opened  the  trunk  lid,  and  Lilly  threw  the  score  on 
the  bottom. 

The  empty  open  trunk  was  like  a  mouth  gaping  for 
fodder.  The  clothes  lay  spread  on  the  bed.  Her  shoes 
stood  next  to  the  washstand.  Hats,  veils,  blouses,  lace 
mantillas,  silk  petticoats — all  waited  and  seemed  to  cry; 

**Take  me  along/' 

For  an  instant  Lilly  closed  her  eyes  and  groaned,  re- 
membering the  sacrifice,  the  only  one,  he  demanded  of  her. 

But  it  had  to  be. 

Both  his  and  her  future  depended  on  it. 

*'Mrs.  Laue  will  hide  them  for  me,  and  she  can  keep  them 
afterwards, '  *  she  thought. 

She  made  her  decision.  Blindly  she  gathered  up  what- 
ever her  hands  fell  upon — in  addition  to  her  dresses  the 
ivory  toilet  articles  with  the  seven  pointed  coronet,  the 
triple  hand  mirror,  the  powder  box,  the  receipt  for  her 
furs  in  the  storage  house,  and  numberless  little  ohjets  de 
luxe. 

She  did  not  forget  her  jewellery  either. 

**In  case  he  needs  some  money,''  she  thought. 

She  sent  Adele  to  order  a  cab.  This  time  again  it  was  an 
eternity  before  she  returned. 

The  porter  helped  carry  the  trunk  down,  and  two  hat 
boxes  dangled  in  Adele 's  free  hand. 

One  more  caress  of  the  canary's  greyish  green  wings, 
one  more  kiss  on  the  monkey's  velvety  snout,  then  the 
door  closed  behind  her  forever. 

** Won't  you  leave  an  address?" 

What  a  secretive  air  Adele  wore ! 

**I  will  write  to  you,  Adele,  and  sometime,  I  hope,  you 
will  come  to  me  again. " 


The  Song  of  Songs  601 

Adele  did  not  respond,  but  looked  down  the  street  ex- 
pectantly. 

A  minute  later  Lilly,  glancing  from  the  hansom  window 
as  she  was  being  driven  along  the  canal,  saw  a  taxicab 
whizz  past  from  the  opposite  direction.  In  that  second 
she  recognised  Richard  seated  inside. 

Red  as  a  lobster,  his  head  inclined  to  one  side,  he  stared 
ahead  of  him  with  wild,  searching  eyes  at  the  house  she 
had  just  left. 

She  hastily  told  the  coachman  to  turn  down  a  side  street. 
She  must  not  meet  Richard  until  her  fate  had  been  de- 
cided before  the  world. 

But  in  a  few  moments,  her  heart  throbbing,  she  heard 
behind  her  the  rattle  and  clatter  that  had  just  died  down 
in  the  distance.     It  grew  louder  and  louder. 

The  yellow  wall  of  the  taxicab  shot  by,  turned  about 
suddenly,  and  stopped.  A  man's  voice  called  to  Lilly's 
driver,  and  her  cab  wa*s  also  brought  to  a  stop. 

Richard  was  standing  close  to  her,  holding  the  open  door 
in  his  trembling  hand. 

** Where  are  you  going?" 

His  voice  shrilled  in  a  feminine  falsetto.  His  Adam's 
apple  rose  and  fell  convulsively  over  his  high  collar. 

Lilly  felt  quite  calm,  quite  equal  to  the  situation. 

He  who  had  so  long  been  her  lord  and  master  now  seemed 
like  a  poor,  helpless  shadow. 

**If  you  please,  Richard,  let  me  ride  on,'*  she  said.  **I 
took  leave  of  you  in  my  letter.  I  just  came  to  fetch  a  few 
of  my  things,  and  now  all 's  over  between  us.  Why  should 
we  go  on  tormenting  each  other  1 ' ' 

**Come  back!*'  he  hissed. 

''Why  should  ir' 


602  The  Song  of  Songs 

*  *  Come  back,  I  say !  You  know  where  your  home  is.  I 
won't  let  you  stray  about  in  the  world  any  more.  Heaven 
knows  what  may  happen  to  you.    Driver,  turn  back.** 

The  coachman  turned  his  russet  face  inquiringly  to  the 
lady  in  the  hansom. 

*'I  beg  your  pardon,  Richard.  I  have  the  sole  say  as 
to  this  cab — and  as  to  my  future  life,  too.  Just  as  you 
have  had  over  your  own.** 

** Stuff  and  nonsense!  I  suppose  you*re  alluding  to  the 
American  heiress.  She  can  go  to  the  devil  for  all  I  care. 
That's  the  way  I've  felt  for  some  time.  But  you  —  must 
—  come  —  buck.  You  —  must  —  come  —  hack.  You  — 
mrU^t  —  you  —  must/' 

He  grasped  the  hem  of  her  skirt  with  both  hands,  as 
if  to  drag  her  from  the  carriage  by  her  clothes. 

**I  beg  you  to  come  back — I  can't  sleep — I  can't  work — 
I*m  so  used  to  you.  If  I  had  married,  I  should  have  come 
to  you  directly  after  the  wedding.  Our  relationship 
wouldn't  have  changed  an  iota.  And  everything  in  your 
apartment  is  just  as  you  left  it.  You  saw  it.  Adele  says 
Peter  won't  eat,  and  Adele  herself  is  worried.  She  says 
she  simply  can't  do  without  you.  I'll  give  you  a  life- 
long annuity  of  twenty — by  God!  thirty  thousand  marks 
a  year.  What's  the  difference?  Mother  hasn't  anything 
against  it.  She  sees  how  I  take  it.  She  knows  I  won't 
ever  marry  after  all.  She'll  never  do  anything  to  you 
again.  You  can  come  to  the  office,  too.  You  can  use  our 
carriage  instead  of  the  hired  one.  I'll  have  a  telephone 
put  up  between  your  apartment  and  the  stable.  And  if 
you  want  I'll  buy  an  automobile  a  thousand  times  finer 
than  this  one. '  * 

That  was  the  highest  trump.  No  one  could  outbid  an  au- 
tomobile.   So  he  stopped  to  see  the  effect.    Kneeling  on  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  603 

steps  he  leaned  far  into  the  hansom  and  stared  into  her  face. 

Lilly  realised  she  could  not  free  herself  from  him,  imless 
he  learned  the  truth. 

She  felt  very  sorry  for  him,  but  it  had  to  be. 

"Listen,  Richard!  What  you  offer  doesn't  count  with 
me  anymore.  Because  I  love  another  man — who  wants  to 
give  me  much  more  than  you.  * ' 

''What!  I'd  like  to  know  what  sort  of  a  young  Van- 
derbilt  he  is!'*  he  cried  in  jealous  scorn.  **Why,  I  never 
knew  that  side  of  your  nature." 

**He'8  not  a  young  Vanderbilt,  Richard.  On  the  con- 
trary, he's  so  poor  he  doesn't  know  where  he'll  get  his 
bread  from  day  to  day.  But  I  am  engaged  to  him,  and  as 
his  affianced  I  will  have  to  ask  you  to  stand  out  of  my  way." 

His  mouth  gaped.  His  eyes  grew  large  and  round.  He 
reeled  back  against  the  hindwheels  of  the  taxicab. 

**Go  on !"  Lilly  cried  to  the  coachman. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  seat,  drawing  a  deep  breath  of  re- 
lief, though  with  a  faint  consciousness  of  guilt,  as  if  she 
had  rid  herself  of  her  old  lover  too  lightly. 

Throughout  the  ride  she  heard  back  of  her  the  chug- 
chug  of  a  slow-moving  automobile ;  and  when  she  descended 
from  her  hansom,  Richard  descended  from  the  taxicab,  at 
a  slight  distance,  though  near  enough  for  ^illy  to  catch  the 
look  in  his  eyes. 

It  was  the  look  of  a  whipped  dog. 

As  if  someone  were  pursuing  her,  she  ran  up  the  four 
flights  without  concerning  herself  about  the  trunk.  But  a 
little  while  later  the  driver  came  panting  up  the  stairs  with 
it,  apparently  of  his  own  accord. 

When  she  held  out  the  money  to  him,  he  refused  it. 

The  gentleman  downstairs,  he  said,  had  already  paid  for 
everything. 


CHAPTER  XX 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  following  day. 

The  carriage  that  was  taking  Lilly  to  the  dreaded  meet- 
ing stopped  in  front  of  the  renowned  Linden  restaurant 
which  has  been  the  resort  of  elegant  folk  for  years. 

Although  it  was  some  time  since  Lilly  had  been  there, 
she  knew  every  stone  of  it. 

She  knew  Albert,  too,  the  tall,  dignified  porter,  who  stood 
in  the  doorway,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  braided  cap.  It 
was  he  who  had  acted  as  the  go-between  for  her  and  the 
handsome  hussar  of  the  guards. 

With  downcast  eyes,  pressing  close  to  Konrad,  she  passed 
by  him,  hoping  he  no  longer  remembered  her. 

**This  is  Lilly,  uncle.'' 

An  old  bow-legged  gentleman,  slightly  under  medium 
size  in  an  ill-fitting  jacket  and  crumpled  collar,  came 
shambling  out  of  a  back  room,  and  held  out  a  broad,  fleshy 
hand,  the  brown  skin  of  which  played  loosely  over  his  bones 
like  a  large  glove. 

Lilly  threw  a  timid  glance  of  scrutiny  at  the  all-powerful 
person,  whom  she  had  pictured  to  herself  as  a  commanding 
yet  complaisant  thunderer.  In  reality  he  was  a  tottering, 
rotund,  somewhat  common-looking  gnome. 

When  she  told  herself  that  her  conduct  now  and  during 
the  next  hour  would  decide  Konrad 's  and  her  own  future, 
the  old  miserable  timidity,  which  had  not  troubled  her  for 
some  time  past,  began  to  paralyse  her  muscles  and  turned 
her  into  a  doll,  which  smiled  inanely  and  could  not  tell  its 
own  name. 

604 


The  Song  of  Songs  605 

But  the  old  uncle  also  seemed  to  have  lost  his  power  of 
•peech. 

He  looked  her  up  and  down  repeatedly  and  well-nigh  for- 
got to  invite  her  to  enter  the  back  room. 

As  with  everything  else  about  the  place  Lilly  was  famil- 
iar with  this  back  room,  its  pressed  leather  walls,  its  red 
silk  hangings,  and  the  blue  oriental  rugs  over  the  high- 
armed  sofa. 

In  the  period  when  Richard  was  still  possessed  of  the 
ambition  to  belong  to  the  aristocracy  of  high  livers,  she  had 
spent  many  a  mad  hour  there  late  at  night  with  him  and 
his  chance  friends. 

An  immaculate  waiter  helped  her  off  with  her  brocade 
jacket  and  lace  mantilla,  and  looked  at  her  the  while  as  if 
to  say: 

**I  ought  to  know  you." 

Oh,  that  was  a  moment  of  agony. 

The  uncle,  who  had  not  ceased  furtively  to  cast  awed  yet 
sullen  glances  at  Lilly,  pulled  himself  together  and  said : 

**Well,  let's  have  a  cosy  time  together,  children.  Nice 
and  pleasant,  eh?'* 

Lilly  inclined  her  head. 

Her  gesture  was  stiff  enough  apparently  to  increase  the 
bow-legged  old  gentleman's  respect.  He  seemed  to  be  at  a 
loss,  and  tramped  about  the  room,  played  with  the  gold 
knobs  which  hung  as  a  charm  from  his  watch  pocket,  and 
two  or  three  times  nodded  his  solemn  appreciation  to 
Konrad. 

They  seated  themselves  at  the  gleaming  white  table,  re- 
splendent with  flowers  and  cut  glass. 

About  the  bronze  lamp — Lilly  remembered  it  with  its 
claws  and  slim  lily  design — hung  a  veil  of  violet  orchids, 
T^hich  had  surely  cost  an  enormous  sum. 


606  The  Song  of  Songs 

He  knew  how  to  live,  the  old  untidy  rogue.  One  had 
to  admit  that. 

Lilly  saw  her  reflection  in  the  mirror  opposite  her  seat. 
It  was  reassuringly  aristocratic. 

She  had  chosen  a  pleated  dress  of  black  Liberty  silk  witH 
a  waist  of  Chantilly  lace,  which  despite  its  costliness  lay  in 
simple  lines  of  grace  about  her  breast  and  arms. 

Unsuspecting  spirits  might  believe  that  a  similar  costume 
was  to  be  had  everywhere  from  San  Francisco  to  St. 
Petersburg,  from  Cape  Town  to  Christiania  for  two  hun- 
dred marks. 

She  had  wisely  refrained  from  wearing  any  jewellery,  ex- 
cept the  thin  gold  chain  which  she  was  wont  to  wear  next  to 
her  skin.     It  encircled  her  high  collar  in  maidenly  modesty. 

She  looked  like  a  young  noblewoman  who  has  been  held 
in  strict  seclusion,  and  who  is  taking  her  first  look  into  the 
great  world  with  shy,  inquiring  eyes. 

His  uncle  had  assigned  the  seat  on  her  right  side  to  Kon- 
rad,  and  kept  the  place  nearest  the  door  for  himself. 

The  instant  he  took  his  seat  at  table  he  began  to  feel 
somewhat  in  his  element. 

He  uttered  hoarse  ejaculations  and  gave  orders  and  was 
dissatisfied  with  everything. 

**See  here,  hoy,"  he  said  to  the  waiter,  who  was  placing 
the  hors-d'oeuvres  on  the  table,  **do  you  call  that  the  right 
kind  of  a  carafe  for  port  wine?  Don*t  you  know  that  if 
port  wine  doesn't  sparkle  in  the  carafe,  it  takes  away  your 
thirst?" 

The  waiter,  intimidated  by  his  snarling,  wanted  to  go  off 
in  search  of  another  carafe,  but  Mr.  Rennschmidt  declared 
he  could  not  wait,  he  needed  a  *' starter. '* 

**I'm  still  a  little  constrained,"  he  said  apologetically. 


The  Song  of  Songs  607 

**I*m  not  accustomed  to  associating  with  such  beautiful  and 
ungracious  ladies/' 

Lilly  felt  a  prick  at  her  heart. 

She  met  a  reproachful  look  from  her  lover,  which  seemed 
to  say : 

**You  mustn't  be  so  dumb.  You  must  be  agreeable  to 
him.'' 

In  the  same  mute  language  Lilly  humbly  implored  his 
forgiveness. 

** I  can't.     You  speak  for  me." 

In  his  anxiety  Konrad  began  to  converse  as  if  he  had  been 
paid  for  entertaining  them.  He  described  the  collection  of 
antiques  in  his  uncle's  castle  on  the  Rhine,  touched  upon 
the  competition  of  the  Americans,  and,  passing  on  to  the 
subject  of  art  in  Italy,  discussed  the  harmful  effects  of  the 
Lex  Pacca,  and  goodness  knows  what  else. 

It  was  a  highly  illuminating  little  discourse,  which  his 
uncle  seemed  to  follow  with  moderate  interest,  while  squint- 
ing at  Lilly  and  smacking  his  lips  from  time  to  time  over 
a  piece  of  canned  tunny.     Then  Mr.  Rennschmidt  said : 

"All  very  true  and  edifying,  my  son.  But  couldn't  you 
also  impart  some  valuable  information  as  to  the  state  of  the 
whiskey  in  this  place  ? ' ' 

Konrad  jumped  up  to  pull  the  bell  rope,  but  his  uncle  re- 
strained him, 

**Stop — stop — stop.  This  is  my  affair.  .  .  .  Here's 
the  port  for  you.  .  .  .  After  all  a  beautiful  woman  is  a 
beautiful  woman,  even  if  she  belongs  to  others.  Here's  to 
you,  beautiful  woman. ' ' 

That  sounded  like  mockery.  Did  he  wish  to  make  sport 
of  her  before  repulsing  her? 

**In  fact,"  he  continued,  addressing  Lilly,  ** permit  me 


'608  The  Song  of  Songs 

to  congratulate  you.  YouVe  already  worked  a  perceptible 
change  in  him.  I  see  he  already  dances  beautifully  to  your 
tune,  ehr' 

Whether  or  no,  she  had  to  say  something  in  reply. 

**I  don't  play  tunes,  and  he  doesn't  dance,'*  she  said, 
making  a  mighty  effort  to  pull  herself  together.  **We're 
not  free  enough  for  that." 

**Aha,  there's  one  straight  from  the  shoulder  for  me,"  he 
laughed,  but  his  laugh  sounded  resentful. 

** Lilly  didn't  mean  any  harm,"  Konrad  interjected,  com- 
ing to  her  rescue.  **And  really,  we  are  not  having  an  easy 
time  of  it.  If  Lilly  hadn't  helped  me  every  day  with  her 
sweet  comprehension,  I  don't  think  my  strength  would 
have  held  out." 

**A11  very  well  and  good — or — or,  or  all  very  deplorable. 
But  your  old  uncle  hasn't  gotten  even  a  look  from  her — as 
advance  payment  on  our  future  relationship." 

*  *  Oh,  if  that 's  all, ' '  thought  Lilly. 

And  raising  her  glass  to  touch  his,  she  tried  to  thank  him 
for  his  having  come  around  with  a  little  coquettish  shame- 
faced smile. 

It  filled  him  with  evident  satisfaction.  He  twisted  his 
pointed  beard  and  ogled  her  confidentially  with  his  leer- 
ing eyes  as  if  to  extract  from  her  a  sign  of  secret  under- 
standing. 

** Thank  goodness!  Maybe  he's  not  so  dreadful  after 
all,"  she  thought.  She  drew  a  breath  of  relief  as  she  felt 
the  chains  of  her  embarrassment  loosening  a  bit. 

When  the  waiter  returned,  a  grave  discussion  arose  be- 
tween him  and  Mr.  Rennschmidt  as  to  the  brands  of  whis- 
key the  hotel  had  to  offer.  It  was  a  long  parley  and  de- 
bate, ending  in  a  call  for  the  hotel-keeper  himself,  who  went 
down  into  the  cellar  to  hunt  up  a  bottle  he  thought  he  must 


The  Song  of  Songs  609 

have  somewhere  with  the  label  of  a  certain  famous  house 
and  the  date  of  a  certain  famous  year. 

At  length  Mr.  Rennschmidt  was  ready  again  to  bestow 
his  attention  upon  his  beautiful  niece  to  be. 

* '  I  'm  a  sort  of  barnswallow.  I  built  my  nest  of  mud  and 
such  stuff.  I  traded  in  guano,  train-oil,  Australian  blen- 
nies,  pitch,  and  other  more  or  less  unclean  things.  So  you 
can't  blame  me  for  wishing  to  recuperate  by  devoting  my- 
self to  appetizing  objects,  such  as  you,  my  ungracious  lady. 
All  I  wish  is  a  little  attention  in  return.  *' 

**0h  dear,"  thought  Lilly.  **I'll  be  impertinent  for 
once.**  So  she  said:  *'Mr.  Rennschmidt,  you  know  I'm 
sitting  here  like  a  poor,  trembling  student  going  up  for  the 
examinations.  I  beg  of  you" — she  raised  her  clasped  hands 
— *  *  don 't  play  with  me  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse. ' ' 

She  had  struck  the  right  note. 

**Ia  she  opening  her  mouth  at  last?"  he  cried  beaming. 
**  And  she  has  a  wonderful  little  snout,  Konrad,  one  of  those 
mice  snouts  with  long  teeth,  in  which  the  upper  lip  says  to 
the  lower  lip,  *If  you  don't  come  and  kiss,  I'll  run  away.' 
Isn  't  it  so,  Konrad,  you  stupid  fellow,  eh  ? " 

Lilly  had  to  laugh  heartily,  and  the  entente  cordiale  was 
finally  concluded. 

And  for  a  moment  Konrad 's  dear  tired  face  brightened 
with  a  smile  of  reassurance  which  expanded  her  heart  as 
with  a  heaven-sent  reward.  She  loved  him  so  dearly  she 
could  have  thrown  herself  at  his  uncle's  feet  for  his  sake. 
With  a  rising  sense  of  triumph  she  thought : 

**Now  he  shall  see  how  agreeable  I  can  be  to  that  old  hor- 
ror." 

And  indeed  to  make  herself  agreeable  proved  to  be  not 
so  very  excessive  a  task.  When  she  looked  at  the  old  man 
with  his  round,  crumpled  roguish  face,  his  darting,  sly  lit- 


610  The  Song  of  Songs 

tie  grey  eyes,  and  the  fine,  wavy,  snow-white  diplomat 'fc. 
wig — it  actually  was  a  wig,  sharply  defined  on  his  forehead 
and  brushed  forward  into  locks  over  his  ears — she  felt  more 
and  more  strongly  that  he  was  an  old  acquaintance  with 
whom  she  had  many  a  time  played  pranks  and  to  whom  the 
recollection  of  those  pranks  secretly  bound  her. 

Yet,  surely,  she  had  never  met  him  before. 

Despite  his  proletarian  exterior  his  assured  manner 
breathed  an  air  of  gentlemanliness.  And  the  way  he  con- 
structed the  menu  was  really  wonderful.  The  sixty-eight- 
year-old  Steinbergerkabinett,  which  looked  like  amber-col- 
oured oil  when  he  poured  it  into  the  Rhine  wine  glasses, 
suited  the  blue  trout  as  perfectly  as  if  it  were  its  native  ele- 
niient.  And  the  next  course,  the  sweetbread  patties  a  la 
Montgelas,  was  worthy  of  what  had  gone  before.  Neither 
Richard  nor  any  member  of  the  crew  was  so  skilled  in  the 
epicurean  art  as  he. 

If  only  he  had  not  kept  tossing  off  one  glass  of  whiskey 
after  the  other. 

"My  brain  has  been  dulled  by  long  money-making,  like 
a  nail  hammered  on  cast-iron, ' '  he  said  in  self -justification. 
**I  must  whet  it  every  now  and  then,  or  else  it'll  get  as  dull 
as  the  edge  of  a  tombstone. ' ' 

When  the  Roman  punch  was  served,  a  brief  but  hot  dis- 
cussion arose  as  to  the  merits  of  certain  American  drinks, 
from  which  Lilly,  with  her  knowledge  of  the  whole  range 
of  beverages,  came  out  with  flying  colours.  She  even  knew 
accurately  the  ingredients  of  Mr.  Rennschmidt  *s  favourite 
mixture,  the  '* South  Sea  bowl,"  a  fiery  concoction  of 
sherry,  cognac,  angostura  bitters,  the  yolks  of  eggs,  and 
Chateau  d'Yquem — in  case  of  emergency  Moselle  might  be 
used.  She  ventured  to  ask,  might  she  not  prepare  the  rare 
mixture  for  him  after  dinner;  she  could  do  it  so  expertly 


The  Song  of  Songs  611 

that  he  would  have  to  admit  he  had  not  drunk  anything 
more  delicious  between  Singapore  and  Melbourne. 

Konrad,  who  had  evidently  never  suspected  her  talents 
in  this  line,  listened  to  her  with  an  astonishment  which 
filled  her  with  pride. 

She  sent  him  one  furtive  look  after  another,  which  asked : 

** Are  you  satisfied?     Am  I  pleasant  enough  to  him?'* 

But  he  failed  somehow  to  respond.  He  remained  silent 
and  abstracted,  and  sometimes  he  seemed  to  be  remote  from 
the  company. 

** Dream  on,"  she  thought  blissfully.  ''/  will  look  out 
for  our  happiness. ' ' 

The  friendship  between  her  and  the  old  man  waxed 
apace. 

By  the  time  the  wild  duck  came  and  with  it  the  glowing 
Burgundy,  which  slipped  down  their  throats  like  caressing 
flames,  she  had  already  been  calling  him  uncle. 

And  he  for  his  part,  repeatedly  declared  that  he  was 
y totally  wrapped  up  in  his  dear,  dear  little  Lilly." 

So  this  was  the  test,  the  cruel  test,  from  which  she  had 
thought  there  was  no  concealment,  no  escape,  the  test 
that  would  bare  her,  dissect  her,  and  turn  her  soul  inside 
out. 

She  could  scarcely  contain  herself  when  she  thought  of  it. 

Yes,  yes.  There  sat  that  awful  danger,  whose  money- 
bags held  victory  or  defeat — a  little  monster  grown  tame, 
who  stroked  her  fingers  with  his  horrid  wrinkled  hands, 
and  fawned  on  her  for  a  crumb  of  her  favour. 

He  was  really  amusing,  especially  when  he  told  jokes. 

What  a  lot  of  gossip  from  the  colonies! 

She  had  not  heard  so  many  anecdotes  in  a  whole  year. 

For  example  there  was  the  story  of  the  German 
governor,  Mr.  Von  So  and  So — she  had  met  him  once  at 


612  The  Song  of  Songs 

Uhl's.  He  went  to  his  post  with  his  suite,  consisting  of 
his  secretary,  his  valet,  and  his  cook.  Six  months  after- 
wards the  cook  went  to  him  and  said :  *  *  Governor,  it 's  so 
and  so  far."  He  gave  her  two  thousand  marks  and 
said:  **But  be  sure  and  hold  your  tongue."  Then  she 
went  to  the  secretary  and  said :  *  'Mr.  Miiller,  it^s  so  and  so 
far. '  *  He  gave  her  three  hundred  marks  and  said :  *  *  But 
be  sure  and  hold  your  tongue."  Then  she  went  to  the 
valet  and  said:  **John,  it's  so  and  so  far.  We  can  get 
married."  Three  months  afterward  the  valet  went  to  the 
governor  and  said :  *' Your  Excellency,  that  woman  did  us 
all.     The  brat's  a  nigger." 

And  many  another  story  he  told  of  like  nature. 

She  hr  1  to  hold  her  sides  with  laughter. 

''Laugh,  Konrad,  darling,  laugh." 

He  smiled,  but  his  eyes  remained  serious,  and  his  fore- 
head tense. 

-  When  the  champagne  was  brought  they  drank  **  fellow- 
ship." 

It  was  horrible  to  kiss  those  thick,  greedy  old  lips,  but 
their  future  happiness  demanded  it. 

Konrad,  too,  was  to  get  a  kiss.  But  he  refused  it. 
Worse  still,  he  wanted  to  prohibit  her  drinking. 

*'She  isn't  careful  enough,"  he  muttered.  *' Please,  un- 
cle, don't  give  her  so  much.  We  have  never  drunk  so 
much." 

But  they  both  laughed  at  him. 

* '  He 's  always  been  a  country  yokel, ' '  the  old  man  teased, 
*'and  has  never  known  what's  good.  It's  too  bad  for  you 
to  throw  yourself  away  on  him,  Lilly  dear.  You  ought  to 
take  a  man  like  me.  Not  a  booby  in  corduroy.  He's  a 
regular  funeral  torch. ' ' 

But  on  this  subject  Lilly  brooked  no  teasing. 


The  Song  of  Songs  613 

**You  let  my  little  Konni  alone,  you  old  fright.  You'd 
better  tell  your  old  chestnuts.  Come  along!  Forward, 
march!'' 

No,  she  would  not  permit  a  word  against  her  sweet  little 
Konni. 

The  uncle  fell  to  telling  his  stories  again. 

Now  they  were  anecdotes  in  pigeon-English,  that  lingo 
which  the  Chinese  and  other  interesting  personages  in  the 
Far  East  use  as  a  means  of  communication  with  the  white 
sahibs.  **Tom  and  Paddy  in  the  Tea  House,"  **The  Vir- 
tuous Miss  Laura  in  Macao,"  **The  Guide  and  the  Bay- 
adere, ' '  each  received  a  good  box  on  the  ear. 

*  *But  Konni  ought  not  to  hear  any  more  of  this,  uncle.  I 
don't  want  my  Konni  to  be  spoiled  for  me." 

So  she  put  her  left  ear  close  to  the  old  gentleman's  lips, 
and  made  a  ** whispering  cave"  with  him,  as  was  the  wont 
of  members  of  the  **crew"  when  they  flirted  too  outra- 
geously or  misbehaved  in  other  ways. 

Anyone  who  had  thought  she  was  tongue-tied  or  unable 
to  repay  like  with  like  would  have  been  sadly  mistaken. 
The  general's  club  jokes  suffered  from  no  lack  of  juiciness, 
and  what  she  had  learned  from  the  **crew"  was  certainly  of 
no  mean  parentage. 

It  was  worth  while  to  exert  an  extra  effort  for  so  appre- 
ciative an  audience  as  * '  uncle. ' '  But  Konrad,  the  innocent, 
•had  to  submit  to  having  his  ears  stuffed  with  the  cotton 
batting  upon  which  the  calville  apples  had  been  served. 

After  the  coffee  the  old  man  demanded  that  Lilly  make 
good  her  promise  and  prepare  the  South  Sea  bowl.  He  was 
sure  her  assertion  had  been  a  mere  idle  boast. 

No  need  to  taunt  her  a  second  time. 

All  sorts  of  bottles  were  called  into  requisition,  besides 
the  sherry  and  the  angostura,  an  old  sweet  Yquem.     It  was 


614  The  Song  of  Songs 

really  a  pity  to  put  it  to  such  uses,  so  Mr.  Rennschmidt  sug- 
gested taking  a  glass  or  two  on  the  side. 

To  be  sure  the  eggs  broke  at  the  wrong  place  and  spilled 
over  her  gown  and  the  carpet.  But  that  made  no  differ- 
ence ;  it  only  added  to  the  pleasure.  At  any  rate,  the  dear 
old  uncle  was  paying  for  everything. 

To  compensate,  the  flame  of  the  alcohol  lamp  leapt  in  the 
air  all  the  more  wildly — up  to  the  orchids — up  to  the  sky — 
it  would  have  delighted  her  to  drink  in  the  tongues  of  fire, 
the  way  witches  do. 

*  *  Your  luck,  Konni — our  luck,  Konni ! " 

*  *  Don 't  drink, ' '  she  heard  his  voice.  It  was  harsher  than 
usual,  and  strange  in  its  severity. 

*' Country  yokel,"  she  laughed,  thrusting  out  her  tongue 
at  him. 

''Don't  drink,"  the  voice  admonished  a  second  time. 
* '  You  are  not  used  to  drinking. ' ' 

She  not  used  to  drinking?  How  dared  he  say  such  a 
thing?  That  was  questioning  her  honour.  Yes,  it  was 
questioning  her  honour. 

'  *  How  do  you  know  what  I  'm  used  to  ?  .  .  .  I  'm  used 
to  quite  different  things.  I  've  sat  on  this  very  seat  I  'm  sit- 
ting in  more  than  once — more  than  ten  times — and  have 
drunk  much,  much  more. ' ' 

''Dear  heart,  think  of  what  you're  saying.  It  isn't 
true." 

His  voice 'once  more  sounded  soft  and  gentle,  as  if  he 
were  reproving  a  naughty  child. 

Such  a  shame.     It  was  enough  to  make  one  cry. 

* '  How  can  you  say  it  is  not  true  ?  Do  yo.u  think  I  'm  a 
liar?  Do  you  think  I'm  not  familiar  with  such  fashion- 
able places  as  this?  Pshaw!  Shall  I  prove  it  to  you? 
Very  well.     I  can.     I  believe  you'll  find  my  name  on  the 


The  Song  of  Songs  615 

base  of  this  lamp — Lilly  Czepanek — Lilly  Czepanek.     Just 
look  for  it,  look  for  it !  * ' 

He  started  to  his  feet  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  mirror- 
like  surface  defaced  by  a  jumble  of  characters  scratched 
on  it. 

But  he  could  not  find  the  L.  C.  for  which  he  was  look- 
ing. She  had  to  come  to  his  assistance.  Not  here. — Not 
there.  The  letters  swam  before  her  eyes.  She  had  to  try 
to  catch  them  like  the  gold  fish  in  her  aquarium. 

Aha !  There  it  was.  There  it  was !  L.  v.  M.,  with  the 
coronet  above.  For  at  that  time  she  had  still  dared  to  use 
the  prohibited  name  for  an  occasional  adornment. 

*'Now  you  see  I  was  right,  Konni.  Now  you  will  let  me 
drink,  won't  you.     Here's  to  you,  you  sweet  little  yokel." 

He  was  so  struck  by  this  proof  that  he  sank  back  in  his 
chair  and  said  not  a  word. 

But  the  uncle  and  she  continued  to  drink  and  laugh  at 
him. 

When  she  threw  a  look  into  the  mirror,  she  saw  as 
through  a  billowy  haze  a  red  swollen  face  with  rumpled 
hair  under  a  hat  tilted  back  on  the  head  and  two  deep 
flabby  furrows  running  from  her  mouth  to  her  chin. 

This  caused  her  some  disquiet.  But  she  had  no  time  to 
heed  her  feeling  because  that  unspeakable  old  uncle  had  a 
new  joke  on  the  carpet. 

*  *  Do  you  know,  Lilly  dear,  the  Chinese  way  of  singing  the 
Lorelei?" 

Before  she  had  even  heard  a  syllable  she  burst  out  into  a 
wild  laugh. 

He  put  one  of  his  bowed  legs  over  the  other,  pretending  it 
was  a  Chinese  banjo,  and  played  a  prelude  on  the  sole  of 
his  foot:  *  *  Tink-a-tink-a-tink. '  *  Then  he  began  in  a  na- 
eal,  croaking,  gurgling  voice,  drawing  out  his  Ts  endlessly: 


616  The  Song  of  Songs 

O  my  belong  too  much  sorry, 
And  can  me  no  savy,  what  kind; 
Have  got  one  olo  piccy  story 
No  won't  she  go  outside  my  mind,*' 

When  he  came  to  the  second  verse, 

Dat  night  belang  dark  and  colo,'* 

he  tore  his  wig  from  his  head  to  heighten  the  effect;  and 
he  now  actually  looked  the  very  image  of  an  old,  nodding 
** Chinee,"  with  his  shiny  pate  and  his  bright  slanting  slits 
of  eyes. 

It  was  a  fascinating,  an  overpowering  spectacle. 

Never  in  her  life,  not  even  on  the  professional  stage,  had 
she  seen  a  clown 's  performance  so  provocative  of  side-split- 
ting laughter. 

She  would  have  died  of  envy  had  she  not  been  Lilly 
Czepanek,  the  famous  impersonator,  who  when  the  spirit 
moved  her,  needed  but  to  open  her  mouth  to  evoke  a  storm 
of  applause. 

Her  matchless  repertoire  had  lain  fallow  too  long.  But 
the  beautiful  Otero  had  not  yet  grown  old,  Tortajada  still 
set  your  senses  a-whirl  with  her  dancing,  and  Matchiche  had 
just  come  into  fashion. 

Lilly  merely  had  to  shove  her  hat  a  little  further  back  on 
her  head  and  lift  her  black  dress — even  a  Saharet  would 
have  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  the  silk  petticoat  she 
had  brought  in  her  trunk — and  then  off  she  could  go. 

And  off  she  went. 

Like  a  whirlwind  over  the  carpet  slippery  with  the  yolks 
of  eggs. 

*  *  Heigh-ho — ole — ole. 

**You  must  shout  ole  and  clap  your  hands. 

"016-e— «!" 


The  Song  of  Songs  617 

The  uncle  bawled.  The  floor 'rocked  to  and  fro  in  long 
waves.  The  lamps  and  the  mirror  danced  along.  All  hell 
seemed  to  be  let  loose. 

**Do  shout,  Konni, — ole— don^t  be  so  downcast.    Ole." 

*  *  Uncle,  you  have  this  on  your  conscience ! ' ' 
What  did  he  mean  by  that  1 

Why  did  he  burst  into  sobs  ? 

Why  was  he  standing  there  white  as  chalk  t 

*  *  Ole— Ole— e-4-4— . " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Lilly  woke  in  a  glow  of  happi- 
ness. 

The  uncle  won  over — the  last  obstacle  removed — the  fu- 
ture lying  before  her,  a  land  of  blossoms  and  golden  fruits. 

What  a  farce  and  a  lark  the  dreaded  examination  had 
been !  What  a  jumping-jack,  what  a  buffoon  he  was,  that 
keen,  penetrating  man  of  the  world,  who  had  probably 
ground  women's  destinies  as  he  would  munch  betel  nuts. 

When  she  tried  to  review  the  events  of  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  arrange  them  in  sequence,  it  came  to  her  with  a 
slight  sense  of  oppression  that  at  the  end  everything  had 
resolved  itself  into  a  fog,  shot  with  light  and  echoing  with 
song  and  laughter,  just  as  had  happened  yonder — in  that 
other  life,  when  she  had  romped  wildly  with  Richard  and 
the  *'crew.'' 

She  could  not  puzzle  out  how  she  had  mounted  the  steo '. 
and  reached  her  room. 

As  the  fog  lifted  a  little,  she  saw  peering  out  of  it  a 
pale,  set  face,  with  an  expression  of  pained  surprise;  she 
heard  an  outcry  that  sounded  like  a  sob  or  a  groan,  and 
saw  herself  sobbing  next  to  someone  who  was  kneeling,  who 
pushed  her  away  with  his  hands. 

Had  that  happened? 

Had  she  dreamt  it  ? 

Why,  she  had  sung  and  danced  so  beautifully,  she  had 
disclosed  her  greatest  talents.  Could  they  by  any  possi- 
bility have  displeased  him?  Had  she  gone  too  far  in  her 
self-abandonment  ? 

618 


The  Song  of  Songs  619 

Her  anxiety  waxed. 

She  jumped  out  of  bed  and  dressed  herself,  possessed  by 
one  thought :     * '  To  go  to  him ! ' ' 

At  twelve  o  'clock  the  door-bell  rang. 

It  was,  it  must  be  he ! 

But  when  she  hurried  to  the  door  to  throw  herself  into 
his  arms  with  a  cry  of  relief,  she  found,  not  him,  but  his 
uncle,  who  stood  twirling  his  hat  in  his  horrid  fingers  like 
a  petitioner,  and  looked  up  at  her  with  an  oily,  wry  smile, 
most  obnoxious  to  her. 

*'Is  the  examination  to  begin  again?"  The  question 
rose  in  her  mind.     **0r  is  it  just  going  to  begin?" 

Her  welcome  died  on  her  lips. 

Without  speaking  she  let  him  in.  She  experienced  a 
sickish  sensation  of  vacancy  and  incorporeality,  as  if  she 
might  melt  through  the  wall  into  her  room. 

The  old  gentleman  did  not  wait  for  her  to  open  the  door 
to  the  '  *  best  room, ' '  but  opened  it  himself,  and  walked  in, 
as  if  he  were  an  old  acquaintance. 

**  Where  is  Konrad?" 

**Konrad?"  With  his  little  finger  he  scratched  the  silk 
band  of  his  wig.  *'0h,  thereby  hangs  a  tale."  He  drew 
out  his  watch  with  the  clinking  gold  chain,  and  studied 
the  dial.  *'It  is  just  ten  minutes  after  twelve.  I  sup- 
pose by  now  he's  on  his  way  to  the  station.  Yes,  he  must 
be." 

''Is — he — going — away?"  she  asked,  her  breath  begin- 
ning to  fail. 

"Yes,  yes,  he's  going  to  take  a  trip.  Yes,  last  night — 
hm — last  night  we  talked  it  over.  So  now  he's  going  to 
take  a  little  trip. ' ' 

** That's  absurd,"  she  thought.  **How  can  he  go  away 
without  me?"    But  she  checked  herself,  and  entering  into 


620  The  Song  of  Songs 

the  game,  asked  with  apparent  nonchalance,  *' Where's  he 
off  to  so  suddenly?'* 

*'0h,  just  a  little  trip.  Not  worth  talking  about.  A 
favourable  opening  presented  itself.  There  happened  to  be 
a  double  cabin  vacant  on  the  steamer  leaving  from — thing- 
umbob— well,  never  mind  from  where — outside  cabin,  you 
know — on  the  promenade  deck — the  best  situation,  you 
know — the  water  doesn't  splash  in  and  there's  plenty  of 
air — and  air's  what  you  always  want,  especially  during 
those  four  days  on  the  Red  Sea." 

Then  it  was  true.  Her  suspicions  on  awakening  were 
being  verified  more  swiftly  than  she  had  thought  they 
would  be.  It  was  only  the  beginning  of  the  test  of  her 
character  and  intentions. 

*  *  What  do  people  do  in  the  Red  Sea,  uncle  ? ' '  she  asked 
with  her  most  innocent  smile. 

**What  do  people  do  in  the  Red  Sea,  child?  Four  thou- 
sand years  ago  the  ancient  Hebrews  probably  asked  the 
same  question.  And  everybody  still  asks  it  when  he  melts 
into  perspiration  there.  But  that's  the  only  way  of  going 
to  India.  And  I  want  to  go  back  to  India  once  again. 
I'm  tired  of  trotting  about  on  red  brick  pavements.  So  I 
persuaded  him  to  come  along  for  a  little  while — ^you  know 
he's  overworked;  you'll  admit  that.  I  think  it's  the  best 
thing  to  do  in  such  cases,  you  see. ' ' 

Lilly  felt  a  lump  in  her  throat,  as  if  all  the  gold  knobs 
on  his  watch  chain  were  choking  her. 

''Rather  a  poor  joke,"  she  thought,  **but  goodness  knows 
what  he  means  by  it. ' ' 

Whether  she  would  or  no,. she  had  to  keep  up  the  game. 

''Konrad  ought  to  have  been  polite  enough  to  come  and 
say  good-by,"  she  replied,  pouting  a  bit,  as  if  he  were 
about  to  start  off  on  a  trip  to  Dresden  or  Potsdam. 


The  Song  of  Songs  621 

**  Why,  he  wanted  to,  child ;  of  course  he  did.  But  I  said 
tj  him:  *You  see,  my  boy,'  I  said,  *it  always  means  such 
dreadful  excitement.  It 's  enough  to  give  you  an  apoplectic 
stroke. '  He  agreed,  and  asked  me  to  arrange  matters  with 
you.'* 

**Well  then,  let  us  arrange  matters,"  she  answered  with 
the  condescending  smile  that  the  farce,  whatever  its  na- 
ture, merited. 

'*He  is  probably  down  below  in  a  cab  waiting  for  a  sig- 
nal, ' '  she  thought. 

The  old  gentleman  put  his  stylish  Panama  beside  him  on 
the  floor,  leaned  his  short  body  back  against  Mrs.  Lane's 
plush  upholstery,  and  tried  to  assume  an  expression  of  sym- 
pathy and  grief. 

The  old  clown ! 

**If  it  were  my  affair,  little  one,"  he  began,  **I  frankly 
confess  IVe  gone  crazy  over  you.  Wrapped  up,  as  I  said 
yesterday.  I  know  women  from  one  end  of  the  world  to 
the  other,  and  it  is  as  clear  as  cocoanut  oil  to  me:  you're 
first  rate  stuff.  You're  fine  as  silk.  But  there  are  peo- 
ple who  take  themselves  seriously  and  have  great  illusions, 
don't  you  know?  People  utterly  without  an  idea  that  a 
human  being  is  a  human  being,  people  who  think  they're 
something  extra,  and  want  life  to  dish  up  extra  tit-bits  to 
them.  Oh,  those  people,  I  tell  you,  those  people!  That's 
the  way  the  great  disappointments  come  about — and  re- 
proaches— and  despair — and  tearing  out  your  hair.  He 
came  near  giving  me  a  thrashing  last  night." 

**Whom  are  you  talking  about?"  Lilly  asked,  growing 
more  and  more  fearful. 

* '  As  if  I  had  led  you  into  overshooting  the  mark !  No, 
indeed.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  don't  do  such  things.  I 
don't  set  man-traps.     And  I  told  him  so  ten  times  over. 


622  The  Song  of  Songs 

But  the  misfortune  is,  we  understood  each  other  too  well. 
We  both  belong  to  the  same  business.  We're  like  two  old 
shipmates. ' ' 

**What  do  you  mean  by  'we  both'?  You  and  I?"  Lilly 
asked  with  frigid  astonishment  in  her  tone. 

**Yes,  you  and  I,  my  child.  Don't  fall  overboard.  You 
and  I.  To  be  sure,  you're  a  splendid  beauty  of  twenty- 
five  and  I  'm  an  old  fool  of  sixty.  But  you  and  I  have  gone 
through  the  same  mill.  What  need  to  explain  to  you  at 
length?  Have  you  ever  searched  for  diamonds?  I  don't 
mean  at  a  jeweller's — ^that  you  probably  have.  Well,  a 
diamond  lies  in  hard  rock,  in  funnels,  in  so-called  blue 
ground.  If  you  come  upon  a  blue  ground  funnel,  you  can 
imagine  what  it's  like.  There  you  squat.  I  went  digging 
for  diamonds  once — with  twenty  men — day  and  night — 
for  weeks  and  weeks.  The  blue  ground  was  there,  oh,  in- 
deed, it  was,  but  the  diamonds  had  been  washed  away. 
Do  you  see  what  I'm  driving  at?  The  fine  ground  is  still 
in  both  of  us,  but  what  actually  makes  it  fine,  the  devil  has 
already  extracted. '  * 

**Why  are  you  saying  all  this  to  me?"  Lilly  asked. 
Tears  were  rising  to  her  eyes  from  sheer  perplexity,  be- 
cause what  he  said  could  not  possibly  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  great  test. 

**I'll  tell  you,  little  girl.  There  are  people  who  think 
there's  no  going  back  on  their  word.  They  have  to  swallow 
whatever  they  once  put  into  their  mouths.  They  won't 
spit  it  out  even  if  it  is  a  strychnine  pill.  Now  /,  on  the 
other  hand,  think  that  nobody  need  consciously  plunge  into 
misfortune.  Neither  you  nor  he.  And  since  it's  best  to 
wash  the  wool  directly  on  the  sheep's  body,  I  came  to  you 
to  make  a  little  proposition.    You  see,  here 's  a  check  book. 


The  Song  of  Songs  623 

Tou^re  familiar  with  check  books,  I'm  sure.  On  the  right 
side  are  printed  ciphers  from  five  hundred  up  to — you  can 
see  for  yourself.  All  the  ciphers  that  make  the  amount 
higher  than  the  sum  written  on  the  check,  are  cut  off  to 
keep  little  swindlers  from  cheating  a  man  out  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  marks  with  one  stroke  of  the  pen.  Now 
look.  This  check  is  dated  and  signed.  All  that's  missing 
is  the  sum,  because  I  should  never  permit  myself  to 
offer  you  a  certain  amount.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  specify 
what  you  think  yjou  need  for  a  decent  living  in  the  fu- 
ture." 

He  tore  a  check  from  the  book  and  laid  it  on  the  table  in 
front  of  her. 

** Thank  heaven,"  thought  Lilly,  **all  my  tremours  were 
needless. ' ' 

It  was  a  clumsy  trap.  Even  a  blind  man  must  see  that 
his  procedure  was  nothing  more  than  a  test  of  her  disinter- 
estedness. 

So,  instead  of  throwing  the  old  man  out  of  doors — 
which  she  should  have  and  would  have  done,  had  he  prof- 
fered the  check  in  all  seriousness — she  smiled  and  took  the 
check  from  the  table,  and  methodically  tore  it  into  bits, 
and  with  the  middle  finger  of  her  right  hand  flicked  one 
little  pile  of  them  after  the  other  into  his  face. 

He  jerked  about  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

** Permit  me,"  he  said,  "permit  me — " 

**By  no  means — I  will  not  permit  such  vile  jokes,  un- 
cle." 

* '  But  you  are  rejecting  a  fortune,  child.  Consider — we  Ve 
torn  you  from  your  moorings.  We've  thrown  you,  as  it 
were,  on  the  street.  Upon  us  rests  the  responsibility  of 
seeing  to  it  that  you  are  not  driven  to  ruin.    And  if  you 


624  'The  Song  of  Songs 

think  that  hy  accepting  the  check  you  are  lowering  your- 
self in  Konrad's  eyes,  I  can  swear  to  you  he  doesn't  know 
a  thing  about  it.  And  he  never  will,  I'll  swear  to  that 
also." 

She  merely  smiled. 

His  little  blinking  eyes  turned  bright  and  staring.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  cold  threat  in  their  look. 

*  *  Or — perhaps  you  intend  to  hold  the  boy  to  his  promise 
and  mean  to  twist  his  pledge  into  a  halter  about  his  neck? 
Is  that  the  sort  you  are — eh  ? " 

*'No,  I'm  not  that  sort." 

Her  smile  flitted  past  him  and  went  to  meet  her  beloved, 
who  must  soon,  very  soon,  come  storming  up  the  stairs. 
Surely  he  could  not  endure  waiting  down  there  in  the  cab 
so  long. 

**His  word  is  in  his  own  keeping.  He  never  gave  me  a 
pledge.  Even  if  he  wanted  to,  I  should  never  have  accepted 
it.  And  even  if  what  you  said  is  true,  he  could  go  on  his 
trip  quite  calmly — and  return  quite  calmly.  I  would  never 
attempt  to  meet  him  or  reach  him  by  letter,  or  remind  him 
of  what  he  is  to  me  and  will  continue  to  be  as  long  as  I 
live.  But  I  know  it  is  not  true.  He  loves  me,  and  I  love 
him.  And  take  care,  uncle,  not  to  play  such  low  tricks 
with  his  future  wife  as  to  offer  blank  checks  and  the  like. 
If  I  were  to  tell  him  about  it,  you'd  all  of  a  sudden  find 
you're  a  lonely  old  man  who  can  leave  his  money  to  a  cat 
and  dog  asylum. ' ' 

Now  he  must  see  what  a  blunder  he  had  committed.  His 
mistake  annoyed  him  so  that  he  jumped  from  his  seat  with 
a  muttered  ' '  Pshaw ! ' '  and  tramped  about  the  room  playing 
with  his  watch  charm,  and  murmuring  two  or  three  times 
something  like  "a  hangman's  job." 

But  she  probably  misunderstood  him. 

Finally  he  seemed  to  have  reached  a  decision. 


The  Song  of  Songs  625 

He  stopped  close  to  her,  laid  his  disgusting  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  and  said: 

** Listen,  my  dear,  sweet  little  girl.  We  can't  part 
without  arriving  at  a  conclusion.  If  I  weren't  such  a 
cursed  mangy  old  pariah-dog,  and  if  over  and  above  this, 
I  didn't  have  to  be  considerate  of  the  boy's  feelings,  the 
matter  would  be  perfectly  simple.  I  should  say:  *  Little 
one,  if  you  want  to,  come  let's  go  to  the  nearest  magis- 
trate. But  hurry,  I  haven't  much  time  to  lose.'  Don't 
stare  at  me  so.  Yes,  that's  what  I  mean — with  me 
— with  me.  You  wouldn't  need  to  regret  it  either.  As 
for  Konrad,  see  here,  you  must  really  say  so  to  yourself — 
it  won't  do — we  shouldn't  hit  it  off — it  would  be  harnessing 
before  and  aft.  Because  he  is  a  rising  man.  He  wants  to 
climb  to  the  top.  He  is  still  blessed  with  faith  and  you  no 
longer  possess  it.  Too  early  in  life  you  tumbled  into  the 
great  meat-chopping  machine,  which  finally  converts  us  all 
into  complacent  wormy  mush.  You  yourself  wouldn  't  feel 
happy.  You  wouldn't  be  able  to  keep  pace.  You  would 
lie  on  him  a  lifeless  cargo,  and  be  conscious  of  it,  too. 
I'm  not  laying  so  much  stress  on  last  night's  eye-opener. 
It's  not  the  appearance  of  a  coast  line  that  counts.  It 
doesn't  matter  whether  it's  covered  with  palms  or  sand. 
The  important  thing  is  the  interior.  And  in  the  interior 
I  see  steppes — scorched — waste-land — no  birds  flying  across 
it — a  desert  where  confidence  will  not  strike  root.  Crawl 
into  whatever  shelter  life  offers  you,  little  one.  Cling  to 
those  who  brought  you  to  the  pass  you  are  in.  But  let  the 
boy  go.  He's  not  meant  for  you.  Be  frank,  didn't  you 
say  so  to  yourself  long  ago  ? ' ' 

So  that's  what  it  was  I 

No  test — 

The  end.     The  end. 

Lilly  stared  into  space.    She  seemed  to  hear  a  tread  dy- 


626  The  Song  of  Songs 

in^  away — a  step  lower,  another  step,  another  step,  and 
another — growing  fainter — ever  fainter — as  when  Konrad 
had  slipped  away  from  her  at  dawn. 

But  this  time  they  would  never  return ! 

She  felt  a  slight  gnawing  disenchantment  creep  about  her 
heart — nothing  more.  The  worst  would  come  later,  she 
knew  from  of  old. 

Then  she  saw  herself  dancing  and  yodeling  and  telling 
hoggish  jokes  with  her  hat  tilted  to  one  side  and  her  petti- 
coats raised  to  her  knees — a  drunken  wench. 

She  of  the  ''lofty  spirit '^  and  *'head  divine,'* — a 
drunken  wench,  not  a  whit  better. 

Now  she  knew  why  he  had  stood  there  white  as  chalk, 
why  that  sob  of  distress  had  burst  from  his  lips. 

And  the  feeling  that  poured  over  her  in  that  second  like 
a  stream  of  boiling  water  was  compounded  as  much  of  pity 
for  Konrad  as  of  shame  of  herself. 

**How  does  he  bear  it?"  she  faltered. 

**You  can  imagine  how,"  he  replied,  **but  I  think  I  can 
pull  him  through  it." 

*  *  Uncle — I  didn  't  mean  to ! "  she  cried  with  a  great  sob. 

* '  I  know,  child,  I  know.     He  told  me  everything. ' ' 

For  an  instant  wounded  pride  flared  up  within  her. 
She  stopped,  picked  up  a  few  of  the  scattered  bits  of  paper, 
and  held  them  out  to  him  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

''And  you  dared  to  offer  me  this?" 

"Why,  what  was  I  to  do,  child?  And  what  will  I  do 
with  you?" 

"Bah!" 

She  struck  at  him  with  both  hands ;  but  the  next  instant 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  wept  on  his  shoulder. 
That  was  the  place  perhaps  on  which  Konrad 's  tearful  face 
had  also  rested  the  night  before. 

Mr,  Rennschmidt  began  to  speak  again.    He  made  va- 


The  Song  of  Songs  627 

rious  proposals  for  her  future.  He  would  ne^  her  begin 
a  new  life,  would  give  her  the  means  for  cultivating  her 
great  talent  for  the  stage. 

But  she  shook  her  head  at  each  of  his  suggestions. 
**Too  late,  uncle.     Waste-land,  you  yourself  said,  where 
confidence  will  not  strike  root.     I  might  aspire  to  music- 
hall  fame.     But  to  be  quite  frank,  that  wouldn't  pay  me." 
**The  damned  curs !"  he  hissed. 
**What  curs?'' 
**You  know." 

She  reflected  as  to  whom  he  could  possibly  mean. 
** There  was  really  only  one,"  she  observed.     **0h,  yes, 
and  another — and  then  one  more.    And  later  there  were 
two  besides,  but  they  don't  count." 

' '  It  seems  to  me  that 's  quite  enough,  little  girl. ' ' 
He  stroked  her  cheeks,  smiling  kindly,  and  she  did  not 
find  his  fingers  so  disgusting. 

She  even  had  to  smile  in  response,  though  she  fell  directly 
to  crying  again. 

Mr.  Rennschmidt  prepared  to  take  leave.  She  clung  to 
his  shoulder ;  she  did  not  want  to  let  him  go.  He  was  the 
last  bridge  that  joined  her  departing  vessel  with  the  land 
of  happiness. 

*  *  What  message  shall  I  take  to  him  ?  "  he  asked. 
She  drew  herself  up.     Her  eyes  widened.     She  wanted  to 
pour  out  all  her  grief.     Her  squandered  love  sought  for 
words  which  would  carry  it  to  him  purged  and  sanctified. 
But  she  found  none. 

She  looked  about  the  room  as  if  help  must  come  from 
some  quarter.  The  pictures  of  the  ancient  actors  smiled 
upon  her.  Those  who  had  once  been  so  eloquent  had  be- 
come dumb,  dumb  as  her  own  soul.  The  framed  lamp  shade 
greeted  her  as  if  the  future  she  had  to  pass  at  Mrs.  Lane's 
side  was  greeting  her. 


628  The  Song  of  Songs 

**I  don't  know  what  to  say/'  she  faltered.  Then  some- 
thing occurred  to  her  after  all.  **  Please  ask  him — please 
ask  him — why  he  himself  didn't  come  to  say  good-by.  I 
know  him.     He  is  not  a  coward. ' ' 

Mr.  Rennschmidt  made  his  queerest  face.     » 

** Since  you're  so  remarkably  sensible,  child,  I'll  tell  you. 
Of  course  he  wanted  to  come  and  say  good-by.  I  even  told 
him  I'd  try  to  drag  you  to  the  station." 

Without  an  instant's  reflection  she  made  a  dash  for  her 
hat. 

**Stop!" 

He  had  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

The  little  fat  figure  grew  taller. 

**Youwill  wo^go." 

**  What !  Konni  is  waiting  for  me — Konni  wants  to  speak 
to  me — and  I  am  not  to  go  ? " 

**You — will — not — go,  I  tell  you.  If  you're  the  brave 
girl  I  took  you  to  be,  you  will  not  nullify  the  sacrifice 
you're  making.  You  can  reckon  upon  it,  if  he  sees  you 
again,  you'll  both  remain  hanging  on  each  other." 

Her  hat  slipped  from  her  hand. 

**Then — tell  him — I'll  love  him — forever — forever — he'll 
be  my  last  thought  on  earth — and — and — I  don't  know  what 
else  to  say. ' ' 

He  left  the  room  without  a  word. 

Then  she  collapsed. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  world  went  its  way,  calmly,  gaily,  busily,  as  if  noth- 
ing had  occuiTed,  as  if  no  lost  happiness  were  tossing  about 
on  the  sea  of  life,  disappearing  farther  and  farther  in  the 
distance ;  as  if  no  human  being  had  been  thrown  into  a  cor- 
ner to  crouch  there  and  stare  at  the  ground  helplessly  with 
dimmed  eyes. 

Mrs.  Laue  was  pasting  pressed  flowers;  the  fried  pota- 
toes were  sizzling  in  fat,  the  lamp  in  the  hall  was  smoking, 
and  the  poor  people's  odour  greeted  all  who  entered  its 
realm. 

Lilly  did  not  cry  her  heart  out  of  her  body  as  when  she 
had  been  expelled  from  Lischnitz;  she  did  not  sink  into  a 
state  of  apathetic  brooding,  nor  wrestle  desperately  with 
fate. 

All  she  felt  was  a  dim  void  stretching  endlessly  before 
her,  broken  now  and  again  by  a  sharp  outcry  like  that  of 
an  animal  bereft  of  its  mate;  a  sense  of  faint-hearted 
acquiescence,  a  consciousness  of  inevitable  imprisonment,  of 
a  fearful  descent  into  dark  depths,  of  a  dismal  death,  lack- 
ing strength  and  dignity. 

Between  the  present  and  the  future,  the  sort  of  future 
that  beckoned  to  her  from  every  street,  rose  the  railing  of 
the  bridge  she  had  tried  to  climb  after  seeing  "Rosmers- 
holm."  And  when  she  stared  into  space  with  tearless 
eyes,  she  saw  far  below  the  black,  purple-patched  water 
rolling  idly  along,  and  heard  the  iron  rail  clink  under  her 
sole. 

629 


630  The  Song  of  Songs 

This  clinking  became  stronger,  and  turned  into  an  ac- 
companiment of  everything  that  came  and  went  during  the 
uneventful  days. 

It  drilled  her  brain,  hammered  at  her  temples,  and  tin- 
gled in  every  pore  of  her  body. 

There  was  a  text  to  the  miserable  melody. 

The  text  was:     *'To  die!'' 

Well,  then,  to  die ! 

What  could  be  simpler?     And  what  more  compelling? 

But  not  to-day.  To-morrow  perchance,  or  day  after  to- 
morrow. 

Something  might  still  happen.  A  letter  might  arrive, 
or  even  he  himself.  Or  if  neither  of  these  contingencies 
came  to  pass — who  could  tell  what  miracle  fate  held  in 
readiness  for  the  morrow? 

To  let  hour  after  hour  of  one  additional  day  pass  in  the 
same  melancholy  monotony. 

One  evening,  a  week  after  Konrad's  sudden  departure, 
it  happened  that  Mrs.  Laue  entered  the  best  room  at  an  un- 
usual time  with  an  emphatic  manner,  and  said:  **Now, 
Lilly  dear,  you  cannot  go  on  the  same  way.  If  you  were 
to  cry,  I  shouldn't  say  anything.  But  this  way  you'll  never 
come  back  to  reason.  There's  only  one  sane  and  natural 
thing  for  you  to  do,  return  to  your  Mr.  Dehnicke.  If  he 
had  an  inkling  of  how  things  are  with  you,  he  would  have 
come  to  fetch  you  long  ago.  So  you'll  either  sit  right 
down  and  write  him  a  nice  letter,  or  to-morrow  morning 
I'll  give  up  my  work  and  go  to  see  him  in  his  office.  I'll 
get  my  expenses  back.'* 

Lilly  felt  violently  impelled  to  drive  the  old  woman  out 
of  the  room,  but  she  had  grown  too  discouraged  to  do  more 
than  turn  away  in  impotent  repugnance. 

'  *  I  haven 't  much  time,  I  must  say, ' '  continued  Mrs.  Laue. 
**I  have  to  complete  the  dozen  before  going  to  bed.    But 


The  Song  of  Songs  631 

you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  one  thing:  if  he's  not  here 
by  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morning,  he'll  come  at  twelve  at 
the  very  latest,  because  by  that  time  I  myself  will  have  gone 
for  him. ' ' 

Lilly  laughed  sadly  in  scorn.  So  that  was  the  way  the 
miracle  looked  which  fate  held  in  readiness  for  the  morrow. 

Should  she  submit  all  over  again  to  a  man's  puny  su- 
premacy? Crawl  back  into  the  cowardly  comfort  of  per- 
fumed imprisonment?  Vegetate  among  inane  festivities, 
in  a  sort  of  doze,  or  walk  the  streets  when  driven  by  disgust 
and  boredom? 

She  would  not  have  the  force  to  resist  the  next  day  when 
he  came.  She  knew  it  well.  Richard  needed  merely  to 
look  at  her  once  with  that  whipped-dog  expression  which 
was  entirely  new  to  her  in  him.  The  very  thought  of  it 
filled  her  with  humiliating  softness.  Something  was  al- 
ready stirring  within  her  that  would  compel  her  to  throw 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  cry  on  his  shoulder. 

It  was  really  not  worth  while  to  bide  the  morrow  for  so 
pitiful  a  reward. 

So — she  would  die — that  very  day! 

That  very  day. 

It  came  to  her  like  a  cup  of  intoxication. 

With  clasped  hands  she  ran  about  the  room  weeping,  re- 
joicing. 

She  would  be  a  heroine  like  Isolde,  a  martyr  to  her  love. 

And  the  railing  of  the  bridge  was  waiting.  How  it 
would  quiver  and  hum  when  she  climbed  on  it. 

Then  the  buzzing  in  her  head  grew  louder.  The  air  was 
filled  with  a  medley  of  tones.  The  walls  re-echoed  with  the 
refrain — ^the  noise  on  the  streets,  the  mighty  roar  of  the 
city — everything  sang: 

*'Die— die— die." 

She  tore  off  her  gown  and  dressed  to  go  out. 


632  The  Song  of  Songs 

At  first  she  thought  of  wearing  one  of  her  two  ill-fitting 
dresses,  because  they  had  come  from  Konrad,  but  she  could 
not  prevail  upon  herself  to  do  so. 

**Die  in  beauty,"  Hedda  Gabler  had  said. 

**0h,  if  only  I  had  his  picture,"  thought  Lilly,  **so  that 
I  could  take  one  last  look  at  his  eyes. ' ' 

But  all  she  had  from  him  were  his  letters  and  a  few 
poems.     They  were  to  accompany  her  on  her  last  walk. 

They  were  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  leather  trunk  which 
was  still  hidden  in  Mrs.  Laue^s  hole  of  a  room,  although  the 
need  for  concealment  was  past. 

When  she  rummaged  for  the  little  packages  among  the 
contents  of  the  trunk  she  came  by  chance  upon  the  old  score 
of  the  Song  of  Songs. 

She  tenderly  regarded  the  yellow  stained  roll. 

She  was  no  longer  angry  with  her  Song  of  Songs  or 
scorned  it,  as  she  had  on  that  unfortunate  morning  when 
she  had  gone  to  her  former  home  to  break  her  promise  to 
Konrad. 

Once  again  it  became  a  dear,  valuable  possession,  though 
neither  a  monitor,  nor  worker  of  miracles,  nor  a  sanctuary. 
It  still  was  an  old  remnant,  but  one  to  be  kissed  and  petted 
and  cried  over,  because  a  part  of  her  own  life  clung  to  it. 

And  some  of  her  blood  also. 

There  were  the  dark  stains. 

On  the  day  of  her  going  forth  they  had  fallen  upon  it, 
and  on  the  day  of  her  coming  home,  the  deep  waters  would 
wash  them  away. 

Then  her  mind  glided  past  the  score  back  into  the  hazy 
past. 

Mists  seemed  to  be  lifting  and  curtains  to  be  drawn 
aside,  and  her  way  seemed  to  lie  behind  her  like  a  sharply 
defined  band. 
/  She  had  been  weak.    And  stupid.    And  had  never  con- 


The  Song  of  Songs  633 

sidered  her  own  interests.  Every  man  that  had  entered 
her  life  had  done  with  her  what  he  would.  She  had  never 
closed  the  doors  of  her  soul,  never  shown  her  teeth,  never 
given  free  play  to  the  power  of  her  beauty ;  but  had  always 
been  ready  to  serve  others,  to  love  them,  and  make  the  best 
of  everything. 

As  thanks  she  had  been  persecuted  and  beaten  and 
dragged  in  the  mud  her  life  long.  Even  the  one  man  who 
had  esteemed  her  had  gone  away  without  saying  good-by. 

*  *  But, ' '  she  thought,  ' '  I  have  never  hated  a  single  one  of 
them,  and  I  have  always  had  the  right  to  regard  myself  as 
above  the  common,  however  I  have  suffered.  However  I 
have  sinned.     And  the  end  was  a  heaven-sent  gift. '  * 

Did  it  not  seem  as  if  this  Song  of  Songs,  which  lay 
there  debased,  stained,  decayed,  like  her  own  life,  had  in 
truth  hovered  over  her,  blessing  her  and  granting  her  abso- 
lution from  her  sins,  just  as  in  her  early  dreams  and  just 
as  in  her  rhapsodies  to  Konrad  during  that  hour  of  bliss- 
ful self-surrender? 

**Yes,  you  shall  come  along!''  she  said.  **You  shall  die 
when  I  die. ' '  i 

She  carefully  rolled  and  wrapped  up  the  crumbling 
sheets. 

Then  she  found  the  letters  in  the  trunk,  read  them  once, 
and  several  times  again — but  she  did  not  understand  what 
she  was  reading. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  she  softly  closed  the 
hall  door  behind  her. 

Mrs.  Laue  was  still  asleep. 

Nobody  met  her  on  the  stairs,  and  she  managed  to  leave 
the  house  without  being  seen. 

Since  her  flight  to  Konrad  she  had  not  been  alone  on  the 
street  at  midnight. 


634  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  two  long  rows  of  house  fronts  dipped  in  garish 
light — the  trolley  poles  sparking  and  flashing  between — 
silent,  shadowy  figures — it  was  all  as  if  she  were  looking 
upon  it  for  the  first  time. 

An  oppressive  fear  beset  her. 

Her  legs  felt  numb  as  if  wooden  stilts  had  been  screwed 
to  them  upon  which  she  must  hasten  on  without  hesitating 
or  stopping,  whether  she  would  or  no.  And  her  heels 
rapped  on  the  pavement,  carrying  her  on,  irresistibly  nearer 
and  nearer  to  her  goal. 

At  the  approach  of  each  passerby  she  was  impelled  to 
hide  herself,  in  the  belief  that  her  appearance  betrayed  her 
intentions. 

So  she  chose  dark  side  streets  which  were  being 
paved  and  where  withering  linden  trees  scattered  rain 
drops. 

Her  way  led  past  long  rows  of  brick  buildings  inhos- 
pitably set  behind  dark  garden  walls,  past  barns  and  fac- 
tories. 

And  her  heels  kept  rapping :  * '  Tap — tap — tap, ' '  as  if  she 
were  wearing  a  pedometer  which  accurately  registered 
every  inch  shortening  her  course. 

She  began  to  think  of  roundabout  ways  of  reaching  her 
bridge. 

But  she  cast  the  temptation  from  her. 

"If  it  were  done,  'twere  well  it  were  done  quickly,"  she 
had  read  somewhere. 

Forward  with  clenched  teeth ! 

The  Engelbecken  lay  dark  and  deserted.  Yellow  lights 
glinted  on  the  invisible  waters. 

**It  would  be  easier  here,"  she  thought,  breathless  from 
the  oppression  at  her  heart,  and  stepped  nearer,  on  the 
grassy  slope. 

But  she  recoiled  with  a  shudder. 


'The  Song  of  Songs  635 

It  had  to  be  the  bridge  on  the  northwest  side — fate  had 
willed  it  so. 

It  was  still  a  great  distance  off,  about  an  hour's  walk. 

She  came  to  livelier  streets. 

The  lamps  in  front  of  the  dance  halls,  where  fallen 
women  revelled,  sent  their  garish  beams  out  into  the  night 
like  tentacles. 

On,  on  she  must  go ! 

From  the  open  doors  of  a  basement  cafe  was  wafted  a  hot 
garlic-laden  vapour. 

What  smelled  like  that  ? 

Oh,  yes !  The  little  sausages  Mrs.  Redlich  had  given  her 
son  as  a  farewell  dinner. 

Directly  in  front  of  her  a  hose  as  thick  as  her  arm 
spurted  a  cleansing  stream  over  the  pavement. 

What  had  she  heard  hiss  and  gurgle  along  the  ground 
like  that  1 

Oh,  yes !  It  had  sounded  just  like  that  when  old  Haber- 
land  had  watered  the  lawn,  with  the  copper  sprinkler. 

Suddenly  the  idea  shot  through  her  brain:  ''None  of 
this  is  true.  I  am  lying  in  bed  between  the  bookcases  of 
the  circulating  library,  and  the  lamp  I  took  from  the 
bracket  is  smoking  back  of  me, — and  it  is  all  in  the  book  I 
am  reading  on  the  sly  after  Mrs.  Asmussen's  dose  of  medi- 
cine has  happily  worked." 

The  city  noises  swelled  and  called  her  back  to  life. 

She  had  reached  the  heart  of  the  city,  the  vortex  of  Ber- 
lin's  unwearying  night  life. 

She  passed  the  Spittelmarkt.  Leipziger  Strasse  unrolled 
before  her,  a  stupendous  scene,  with  its  endless  chain  of 
street  lamps.  A  silvery  mist  enveloped  it,  or,  rather,  it  re- 
sembled a  gay  picture  lightly  covered  by  a  layer  of  mould, 
dotted  with  the  lights  of  cafes  and  cabarets  glimmering 
red. 


636  The  Song  of  Songs 

The  numb  feeling  in  Lilly's  legs  increased.  She  moved 
them  without  realising  that  she  was  moving  them. 

She  felt  nothing  but  the  throbbing  of  her  heart,  which 
shook  her  whole  body  like  the  vibrations  of  a  mill. 

On  Friedrichstrasse  the  people  thronged  as  in  the  day- 
time. 

Young  men  rejoicing  in  the  chase  followed  close  upon  the 
heels  of  their  laughing  quarry. 

The  lamplight  shone  on  the  silk  stockings  of  damsels  as 
they  tripped  along. 

**  Those  who  have  once  been  completely  submerged  in  this 
world/'  thought  Lilly,  with  a  shudder  of  envy,  **no  longer 
trouble  themselves  with  questions  of  honour  and  death. ' ' 

Alas,  beyond  that  brilliant  whirl  came  quiet  and  dark- 
ness again,  in  whose  shelter  a  person  may  die  as  he  will. 

And  her  heels  kept  beating:  **Tap — tap — tap."  She 
could  hear  them  even  in  all  that  noise. 

** Couldn't  I  go  to  some  cafe?"  she  asked  herself. 
**What  harm  if  some  one  were  to  see  me?  I  should  gain  a 
paltry  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Lights — mirrors — upholstery — curling  blue  cigarette 
smoke — a  tingling  in  her  parched  throat. 

Once — once  again !  Not  a  quarter  of  an  hour — a  whole 
hour — and  still  longer  if  she  wished  it — a  poor  bit  of  life 
which  would  do  nobody  any  harm. 

But  she  could  find  no  justification  for  such  cowardice, 
and  she  did  not  want  to  be  ashamed  of  herself  at  the  very 
last. 

So  on — on. 

The  laughing  crowds  of  the  Kranzlerecke  fell  behind — 
the  dagger-like  lights  no  longer  pricked  her. 

Lilly  scarcely  knew  where  she  was  going. 

(She  had  probably  reached  one  of  the  quieter  cross  streets 
that  lead  to  the  northwest  side. 


The  Song  of  Songs.  637 

The  middle  of  the  empty  street  was  dotted  with  glisten- 
ing puddles.  The  pluvial  autumn  wind  came  sweeping 
along  hetween  the  rows  of  houses.  The  dark  windows 
coldly  reflected  the  light  of  the  street  lamps.  Everything 
about  her  seemed  lifelesc,  extinct.  Only  at  rare  intervals 
a  phantom  glided  by,  and  the  cats  sped  from  hiding  place 
to  hiding  place. 

Shivering,  Lilly  pressed  the  score  closer  under  her  arm. 

She  passed  a  florist's  shop,  where  the  blinds  of  the  show 
window  had  not  been  drawn.  Glancing  at  her  reflection, 
she  was  startled  to  see  the  prickly  foliage  of  laurels  and 
cypresses. 

What  had  gleamed  like  that  ? 

Oh,  yes !  The  Clytie  that  dreamily  smiled  down  from  the 
proud  staircase  of  the  house  of  Liebert  &  Dehnicke. 

Now  Lilly  Czepanek  would  never  mount  those  laurel-lined 
stairs  in  triiunph,  nor  even  crawl  to  look  upon  them  a  re- 
pentant sinner. 

She  reached  a  bridge. 

She  crossed  it  quickly. 

That  other  bridge  luring  her  on  lay  in  remoter  solitude, 
in  darker  silence. 

*'You  have  too  much  love  in  you,"  some  one  had  once 
said.  **A11  three  kinds:  love  of  the  heart,  love  of  the 
senses,  love  springing  from  pity.  One  of  them  everybody 
must  have.     Two  are  dangerous.    All  three  lead  to  ruin. ' ' 

Who  had  that  been? 

Oh,  yes!  Her  first  flame,  the  poor  consumptive  teacher 
who  had  lectured  to  the  Selecta  on  the  history  of  art,  and 
whom  she  and  Rosalie  Katz  had  helped  to  send  to  the  prom- 
ised land,  the  land  she  herself  had  never  entered. 

He  had  spoken  of  blue  olive  vapours — the  sea  blackened 
by  the  breath  of  the  sirocco— and  shining  meadows  of 
asphodel. 


638  The  Song  of  Songs 

**What  kind  of  meadows  could  they  be — meadows  of 
asphodel?" 

How  fantastic  the  foreign  word  sounded  and  how  full  of 
promise. 

But  her  heels  said :  * '  Tap — tap — tap, ' '  and  the  railing  of 
the  bridge  called  to  her. 

A  man  spoke  to  her.     Wouldn  't  she —  ? 

She  shook  him  off  like  a  worm. 

She  had  been  given  another  warning,  also  with  three  parts 
to  it. 

By  whom? 

Oh,  yes!    Mr.  Pieper. 

She  suddenly  heard  the  sententious  admonition,  in  his 
very  words  and  tone  of  voice,  as  if  he  had  uttered  it  the 
day  before : 

** First,  exchange  no  superfluous  glances;  second,  demand 
no  superfluous  rendering  of  accounts;  third,  make  no  su- 
perfluous confessions." 

**If  I  had  not  exchanged  superfluous  glances,  I  should 
have  seen  my  promised  land.  If  I  had  not  superfluously 
demanded  the  rendering  of  an  account,  I  should  never  have 
been  expelled  from  Lischnitz.  And  if  I  had  not  made 
superfluous  confessions — " 

What  then? 

^'Konni,  Konni,"  she  moaned.  Her  yearning  welled  up 
hot  and  painful,  and  forced  her  revolving  thoughts  from 
her  mind. 

She  walked  on  reeling. 

More  streets  disappeared  in  the  fog,  interrupted  at  one 
place  by  a  grass  plot  with  a  hedge  about  it. 

What  sort  of  meadows  could  they  be — meadows  of  as- 
phodel? 

Suddenly  she  stood  at  the  bridge. 

Like  a  thief  in  the  night  it  loomed  up  in  the  darkness  of 


The  Song  of  Songs  639 

tKe  wide,  silent  place,  where  the  lights  of  thousands  of 
street  lamps  dwindled  into  tiny  sparks. 

A  pale-faced  full  moon  shone  somewhere  in  the  black  sky. 
It  was  the  illuminated  clock  of  a  railway  station,  the  body 
of  which  was  swallowed  by  the  darkness. 

Half -past  one  o'clock. 

Lilly  saw  ever3rthing  as  through  a  spotted  veil. 

She  was  going  to  turn  the  corner  of  the  wall.  Instead, 
paralysed  by  horror,  she  sank  down  against  it,  her  heart 
throbbing  powerfully. 

** After  all  I  am  not  going  to  do  it,*'  she  said  to  herself. 

**Yet — I  will,''  she  answered. 

She  tried  to  go  on — straight  ahead — on  the  bridge,  where 
the  rail  awaited  her  maliciously.  But  her  legs  refused  to 
carry  her. 

The  singing  in  her  ears  rose  to  a  roar.  She  stood  on  the 
dark,  solitary  bank  wavering. 

She  took  the  score  in  both  hands,  tore  at  it,  and  tried  to 
crumple  it  into  a  ball.  But  it  did  not  give  way.  Her  Song 
of  Songs  was  stronger  than  she. 

Suddenly  her  feet  moved  of  themselves,  and  carried  her 
on — on — ^whether  she  willed  it  or  not,  past  the  lamps  at  the 
entrance  to  the  rail  awaiting  her. 

Now  her  fingers  grasped  the  iron  top  of  the  railing. 

All  she  could  see  of  the  water  below  was  a  dark,  slimy 
shimmer.    Not  even  the  lamps  were  reflected  in  it. 

Now,  one  leap — and  the  thing  was  done. 

**Yes,  I'll  do  it,  I'll  do  it,"  a  voice  within  her  called. 

But  she  had  to  send  the  Song  of  Songs  ahead.  It  would 
be  a  hindrance  to  her  as  she  climbed  over. 

She  threw  it — a  bit  of  white  flitted  by — a  splash  below — 
sharp  and  distinct,  which  made  her  tingle  all  over  like  a 
slap  in  the  face. 


640  The  Song  of  Songs 

When  she  heard  the  sound,  she  knew  she  would  never 
do  it. 

No!  Lilly  Czepanek  was  not  a  heroine;  she  was  not  a 
martyr  *o  her  love ;  she  was  no  Isolde,  who  finds  the  strong- 
est affirmation  of  herself  in  the  desire  not  to  be. 

She  was  nothing  but  a  poor  thing  who  had  been  crushed 
and  exploited,  and  would  drag  along  through  life  as  best 
she  could. 

At  the  same  time  she  began  to  array  all  the  possibilities 
of  a  livelihood  remaining  open  to  her. 

She  would  not  return  to  the  old  life  of  dissipation.  That 
was  certain.  No  matter  how  much  Richard's  whipped-dog 
look  might  plead  and  beg. 

Anything  else  would  do. 

To  be  sure,  she  had  been  completely  robbed  of  her  desire 
to  work,  and  it  seemed  very  doubtful  whether  it  would  ever 
come  back  to  her  again. 

But  after  all:  something  would  present  itself  which 
would  enable  her  to  live  in  peace  and  virtue. 

Millions  of  human  beings  ask  for  nothing  better  and  call 
it  **happiness!*' 

She  sent  one  more  searching  look  at  the  lazy  waters,  in 
which  the  Song  of  Songs  had  just  disappeared. 

Then  she  turned  and  went  back. 

In  the  spring  of  the  next  year  the  business  world  of  Ber- 
lin was  surprised  to  read  in  the  papers  that  Mr.  Richard 
Dehnicke,  senior  member  of  the  old,  well-known  firm  of 
Liebert  &  Dehnicke,  manufacturers  of  art  bronzes,  had  mar- 
ried the  much-talked-of  beauty,  Lilly  Czepanek,  and  had 
gone  to  Italy  to  live  there  temporarily. 

Those  who  knew  her  were  not  surprised. 

She  bad  alway;  ^a<»P  •*  dangerous  woman,  they  said. 


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